Shared Resonance of Possession Experience
by Arashi Leonhart
Summary: On the run from the Association and Church, a chance encounter between Sion Eltnam Atlasia and Shirou Emiya changes their lives.
1. Memory Partition Active

_**Shared Resonance of Possession Experience**_

* * *

Fate and Melty Blood characters are not mine and belong to Nasu and Type Moon.

Lemon warning. Not all chapters will have mature content, however.

* * *

_**Memory Partition Active**_

* * *

The full moon hovered at the edge of the horizon, providing more light than the single candle they kept within their room. Both stared out the window at the sight, a silent reminder of things both past and present to them both. For Shirou Emiya, it reminded him of the night he took on an ideal. To Sion Eltnam Atlasia, it was a reminder of what she was slowly turning into.

The silence broke as Sion let out a slow breath, her eyes closing as if falling into a trance. She said, "We are now clear," and then flicked her wrist like a fisherman might to reel in the latest catch. "Nobody within a five kilometer radius beside the proprietor and the guests at the closest inn. I will keep informed about their status for now."

Shirou nodded. Though previously it had been his practice to simply find a high location and survey his surroundings with Reinforced eyes, it was not quite as effective: a magus who was precautious could find ways to approach unseen, and Shirou had no way to conceal his own presence when he took a look around. Sion's unseen technique was certainly sneakier.

The inn they had rented out was out of the way, quiet, a little run down. A traditional ryokan, it was entirely vacant since the Golden Week travel times had been a mere week prior and everyone was now back to work. Since the two of them had spent the Golden Week period being extra paranoid and avoiding the crowds that propagated all around Japan at the time, Shirou had suggested they try to recover at a more comfortable place at least for a night. Though it housed an onsen fed by a local hotspring, it was further walking distance to the nearby town than other inns.

Still, the old lady running the place was kind, and she seemed to take their presence as two young lovers that were taking a belated vacation from their families, so she did not seem prone to asking questions.

Sion went about turning the lights on, color returning to the room they shared. The tatami looked real instead of synthetic, the furniture like actual Showa-era made instead of faux replicas, and the bedding worn. Shirou had approved, so she had too, though his insistence that the real thing was better confused her. She did not voice her perplexity, however, as the mirth in his expression when he said so told her she would only be confused further by his explanation.

It was something that she found both intriguing as well as bothersome about her companion. He was significantly more simple-minded than she was, she could tell that much, but something about him was also paradoxically more complex. Though it was a fairly minor reason, this was one of the things that had led her to agree with their impromptu partnership. If at all possible, she would discover what this contradiction stemmed from.

"Are you hungry?" Shirou asked. "I'm hungry." He scratched the back of his head. "Those food bars we took with us were fine, and all, but I didn't realize how much I could miss real food until we got back into town."

Sion gave a small nod. "The likelihood that another attack will catch us by surprise has risen above fifty-five percent. We also do not know when next we can indulge ourselves, so it would be appropriate to eat now while we may at our leisure."

Shirou let out a noise like a balloon being deflated and tried to conceal it by turning to the door. He held out his hands helplessly at the questioning stare he knew Sion gave him. "Sorry. Most people would just say 'yes' or 'no.'"

A flat look fell across her features; Shirou said at one point her eyebrows literally went completely level. "Yes."

"You're the one that wanted to try and fit in. Just saying." Shirou grinned over his shoulder at her. "The old lady said she'd be preparing food. I'll go see if I can't help out. Be back."

When the young man had left, Sion let herself grumble. It was, in fact, her desire to understand the greater world better and she had asked for Shirou to coach her when appropriate. Though she had an accurate assessment of how long she would remain at large, how long it would take until _that_ made its appearance, she still felt that any information could contribute toward longevity. Whether hiding from members of Atlas or privateers they might send for her, to simply functioning more efficiently in the outside world, it was paramount that she understood how someone existed in this time, outside the confines of alchemical research.

She was, in fact, desperate to find any thread that could somehow delay the supposed inevitability. Even if that delay was only, truly, within her own mind.

Shirou's presence was helpful to that, in a few ways. It was a strange sensation, the ability to converse with one her age, and though his knowledge was lacking, Shirou was at least adequately informed that she could pose rhetorical questions regarding her research to get some feedback, however small. Though his firsthand information was severely limited, his teacher, Rin Tohsaka, had apparently been a much more versatile magus and he had, as he put it, "picked up on some things mainly through osmosis." When Sion had said that the human mind could not actually record data through such a process, he had blushed and changed the subject.

More importantly, though, was that odd affection he seemed to have for the mundane. It was not something she had noted from her peers at Atlas, though her experience with them was limited, of course. But even for a magus, he seemed to be an oddity, an irregular; he seemed happier to talk about food or sightseeing or random experiences than magecraft. The mages and alchemists she knew were always talking about their projects, their research—and if they were not, everything they spoke of had an oblique reference to the world they lived in, to the existence they understood.

Shirou, meanwhile, seemed to genuinely find it odd that she did not mind the taste of natto, or that in all of her time living in Egypt she had never seen the Pyramids. He also laughed at how she pronounced _suki_ with "too much ooh," and had mimed like he was suddenly holding poles in his hands and had something on his feet. "You know, more like skiing."

"I was raised in Egypt," she had reminded him.

Sion glanced back outside. Though light now dulled the outside world, she could still make out the glow from the moon beyond. She wondered whether any amount of light would snuff out that image.

Her Etherlite detection grid was tripped. Tugging on the invisible wire, Sion turned her attention toward the breach in the grid, her hackles rising along the back of her neck. For a potential enemy to already have a grasp of their location after spending over a week out in the middle of nowhere was such a low probability that she had not truly believed such a thing could happen—

A carousing couple from the other inn, the one closer to town with a half-dozen guests. Apparently, they had decided to stumble out into the forest in an inebriated haze and had tripped one of the wires she had surrounded their location with earlier.

"Still, it could be a cover…" though she felt the probability was very low. Magi would not take such an indirect method to reach them if sufficiently skilled, and had they known of Sion and Shirou's location, they would have preferred to attack while the renegades had been out in the forest avoiding civilization. Though, at the same time, Shirou had been the one insistent to keep some form of watch—though not by any definition "paranoid," he did appear to have some kind of experience that made him cautious.

So Sion continued to, from a distance, observe the pair that had stumbled beyond her boundary field. They stumbled around, drank from a bottle of alcohol, laughed, stumbled some more. From everything she understood, this was not outside the limits of "normal" and, while not common to observe, would not interest people as they went about their mundane lives.

Though, to Sion…

_Are you hungry?_

He had not meant it in that way, of course, but watching these people, carefree and idiotic in moving about without full control of their bodies and minds—

A shiver crawled down Sion's spine, more like a drip slowly rolling down her skin than a torrent spilling over her. She scratched at her arms, bangles clanking against one another, then slowly backed away from the window, lest the urge to leap out through it and toward those people became more than an idle thought. When her back hit something solid, the shaky feeling she felt hit her legs, and she suddenly felt very, very cold.

* * *

Sion claimed that it was not an improbability that they would meet. On the run from competing forces, both for knowledge they could not keep a secret, and in a country as small and isolated as Japan, the chance that they would meet was within a reasonable percentage. The world of magic always attracted to its own, inevitably drew closer to something like itself, in much the fashion of rules such as magnetism or chemical bonding within the existence of the mundane. In many ways, it was a conclusion that could be reached via science.

For Shirou, it was more like fate.

* * *

When Shirou returned to their room, arms laden with a tray of food, it was to find that which they had tried to feint off for days.

Sion had her back to the closet door, like she had stood up and then teetered back accidentally. Though it had not even been half an hour, somehow, Sion seemed paler than before. Absently with his foot, Shirou slid the door behind him closed, then set the platter of food down on the table.

"I'm fine," Sion said, as if on reflex.

Shirou sighed. He figured one of the reasons they seemed to get along was they were a lot alike, including the stubborn refusal to show a sign of weakness. Even in the month or so he had known her, that sort of automatic response was something he was attuning himself to and recognizing as the prideful alchemist speaking.

Slowly and deliberately, he moved up to stand before her, reached up to take her by the shoulders, and, pressing her back flush to the door, leaned in to kiss her full on the lips.

The little sound Sion made, somewhere in the gap between squeak and whimper, never failed to get his blood going. It was something she almost always did, like she could not decide whether to be more embarrassed or aroused.

It was something they had discovered a short while ago with regards to her _problem_. The strain on her body and mind grew as each day passed, and while Sion had yet to succumb to any impulses that she could not recover from, her strength was clearly waning. That same stubbornness refused to give in, but it was also chipped away at daily, the steady flow of a force that would not retire until a hole in her defenses had formed. With the weakening of that barrier, she became both physically weaker, and, counter to what Shirou would have assumed, more feral and animalistic.

So they had found something that allowed her to give into those impulses without turning her into a monster.

It had been both calculated and not at the exact same time. Shirou was not stupid enough to simply offer that she take his blood—he understood enough of the lore behind the blood-sucking species to know that if she took it that far, her psyche may never recover fully as a human being. So he was still careful to keep her from taking that step. He also knew, from some long-buried information Rin had passed along to him about their time during the war, that other activities could transfer the life force and materials a vampire required to subsist.

Of course, really, though, none of that had directly been at the forefront of his mind when he had, that first time, given her a kiss.

"Please…" Sion mewled into his ear the moment he pulled away.

He changed his method of attack, his lips going for the exposed skin between her chin and the collar of her blouse. His hands swept down her body at the same time until they found the other place skin peeked out, then slid up under her skirt to pull at what she wore beneath. Sion moaned deeply at that, and though she hastily managed to slip one leg out from the tangle of her panties as he slid them down her legs, she could not manage to clear the second before his hand came up to brush ticklishly up her thighs to the junction of her legs. He swirled his fingers along her skin in circles, up into the faint bush of hair above her entrance, until he felt her hips move faintly toward his touch. "Please what?"

"Please touch me," she said. Her voice had gone weak, but at the same time he could hear the waver beyond, like the storm beyond the stillness in the air.

Shirou slipped a finger into her, the pad of his thumb still caressing just above where she was becoming wet, and he leaned back up to kiss her again as he did so. He stroked his finger back and forth, in time with the flicker of her tongue as she tried to simultaneously breathe, kiss, and shudder at once. Her arms circled around his shoulders and alternatively went tense or slacked with each stroke into her body, until the gap between the two was threatening to match their heart rates.

He withdrew only long enough to reach up and pull her blouse up and unbutton the shirt beneath, while Sion brought her hands up to stroke along his abdomen beneath his shirt before going for his belt and the clasp of his pants. The alchemist tensed once again, fumbling with his clothing, as he leaned down to encircle the pinkish tip of her left breast with his mouth, groaning as he let his tongue swish over her, groaning again when he repeated the process to her other side. She gave up on his clothes to slip a hand down to her own body, replicating the same motion as his tongue to where his fingers had vacated earlier.

"Please," she whimpered again, as she absently watched him as he finished her job.

Shirou's arms encircled her and his hands slipped up beneath her skirt again to take hold of her. He lifted her up, kept her back braced to the wall, then carefully leaned forward, his hardness plunging into her.

Sion's arms grabbed for his shoulders again, her legs circled his waist, and she pulled him in each time he drew back. "Harder," she said, her voice deeper than before, not as weak.

His hands squeezing her skin, Shirou shoved himself in harder than before until their bodies were also flush with one another, until his lips were going for her neck again, awkwardly, as each thrust of his body caused a shake of her shoulders. He licked at the skin there until he felt her tighten around him in response, tried not to think about the noise of their bodies crashing against the doorway.

"Harder," she said again, though now he could hear it in her voice: the shift from fragile and caught up in sensation to something closer to animal desire. Her hands clutched tightly at his shoulders, balling up his shirt beneath her fingers, and he saw that her eyes had lulled back into her head and she was biting her lip.

Shirou thrust up once more into her, bringing a deeper moan out from Sion's throat, then drew from her completely and shoved her around. Sion made a growling noise, then whimpered again as he teased his length against her, the tip lightly poking where she was most sensitive.

Her legs went out on her, and they both slid down to their knees, Sion scratching at the door the entire time like the sound of her fingertips brushing against the carpet-like material was the only thing that kept her conscious of what they were doing. Shirou flipped her skirt up and she wiggled her hips when she felt the faint touch of his breath play across her exposed skin. "Shirou…" she groaned.

He thrust back into her, hard enough that she fell entirely from her hands and almost planted her face right into the ground. The tatami muffled the sound of her cries as he plunged in and out, in and out, until she felt the sensation of her breasts dipping into the floor. She lost her breath, and the next stroke of his cock into her body sent her over the edge, and she shrieked.

Shirou moaned himself as she screamed, his hips losing their cadence as her back arched and she drove her chest into the floor while thrusting her hips back up into his, and he gripped her body tightly as he shoved himself deeper into her body over and over until he came, the sensation of filling her body growing as he spilled into her. His fingertips clutched at her until he was sure she would suffer marks, and he desperately tried to remember to breathe.

The sensations held for a while, until Shirou withdrew and fell back onto his haunches, still gasping for air. Sion pulled herself up at the same time, absently batted her hat away—it had fallen lopsided at some point that she couldn't remember—and crawled over her partner in a haze.

This part had always embarrassed Shirou more than it did Sion—the fact that this was not exactly the same as prana exchange or a contract ceremony. Though providing her with prana was apparently helpful to her situation, she was also becoming more and more a Dead Apostle, something that he did not have the most extensive knowledge on. One of the things he did know, however, was that Apostles consumed blood because it provided them with a resource of genetic material. Sion, though somehow not a fully-turned blood-sucker, still had the impulse, and they had eventually decided there was something else that might work as a substitute, even if it was a much smaller resource than blood.

Regardless to the "dirtiness" of it all, Sion unabashedly licked at his body, swirling her tongue around his cock, cleaning every part that had penetrated her. It was his turn to whimper at the sensation, somewhere between arousing and ticklish, the stroke of her tongue constantly upward until he was once more hardening, his body unable to resist the feral desire to plunge back into her. She let out a breathy shudder, stroking him with her hand for a moment as she licked around his testicles, then took him in her mouth again.

"Sion…" he whispered, still embarrassed. They had agreed to this verbally before hand, and she had accepted it with less of a blush than he had, though he still felt somehow like a stupid boy—this was, after all, his idea.

She licked around his length as if to carefully taste every last bit, then started bobbing her head, slowly at first, until he could not help but thread his fingers up into her hair. Her eyes came up to meet his, though, and despite the almost trance-like look, he could see something still going on beyond, watching him to see what felt best—

Shirou's eyes went wide when she pulled away entirely and he had to resist the urge to clutch her head and force her back down. She smiled, faintly, not in an outright happy manner, but with some amusement, like she had just discovered a new, interesting thing. "Stand up for a moment?"

He blinked at her, but complied, moving back as he did so at her guidance until his back hit the opposite wall from where they had been.

She knelt in front of him, resumed her motions for a bit, then drew back again at some cue he could not detect. She pursed her lips over his tip at that, swishing her tongue back and forth, then drew back again and looked up, a faint blush staining her cheeks. "Do you want to come on my face?"

Shirou was certain he would blush—if all of the blood in his body did not immediately rush elsewhere even more than before. "W-what?"

Sion held him in her hand and licked up his length once more, her voice falling to almost-seductive tones. "You forget that I can see your thoughts," she said. "I know you've wanted to…"

He moaned as her hand pumped him. "Y-yeah…"

"Come, then…on my face, Shirou…"

And he complied as she stroked him faster, the sensation of release more foreign in the open air. His seed pattered onto her skin as she held her mouth open to catch him, then her tongue reached up to lick him clean. He idly realized why she had moved him when he realized his legs could no longer keep him up and he leaned heavily back against the wall.

The girl gave his cock a last touch of her lips, almost like a kiss, then she slowly wiped at her face with her fingers before consuming what was there, smiling at him even as the blush intensified on her cheeks. When he had regained control of enough brainpower to at least throw a questioning look at her, she said, "I, um, well, a couple breached the boundary field outside and, um…started…um, doing it, and, really, that's where the idea came from…and I, well, I do recall once when you thought of something real fast, and…"

Shirou regained the ability to blush. "Yeah, um, yeah."

They sat in embarrassed silence for a moment, then somehow, at a synchronized moment, both decided to straighten their clothes up. As Sion tried to somehow maintain her composure while slipping her underwear back up her legs, Shirou zipped himself back up, then carefully reached up to start buttoning her shirt closed. Sion's hands came up to his wrists, though instead of pushing him away, simply held him there as he helped her dress.

"Er…there's, uh, also food," Shirou said, remembering what he had gone out for. "I'm _really_ hungry now."

Sion smiled, faintly, with a tinge of sadness. The fact that she would be more driven to consume something else still seemed to weigh on her, despite the fact that it was not blood, despite the fact that it was harmless.

Shirou wished he had some way to comfort her, other than to take her hand as he drew them both back to the table for their long-awaited dinner.

* * *

It was something Shirou had intuitively understood about her situation. Rin had so thoroughly beat into his head how backwards his mentality was, how his pursuit of the impossible at the expense of himself was distorted and destructive, how he needed to get over what had happened in the past to move on toward the future. It still didn't quite stick, though, and now he was not in the position to work it out with her—his own self-sacrificing tendencies already claiming their time together. But when he saw it in this person, the need to live for another and the pursuit of something thought to be impossible, it gave him some sense of perspective, at least, and the urge to help.

To Sion, it was like an unknown factor suddenly turning up in an equation that helped solve the equation, but remained unknown.

* * *

To be continued.


	2. Trace On

AN: "A post office in Homura" is a reference to something in the "Magicians Hate Machines" skit from CP, not _that_ Homura.

A little after the second break, I highly suggest a certain Realta Nua BGM that starts with M, ends with d, and has "ighty Win" in it.

* * *

_**Trace On**_

* * *

Coming home for the first time in over a year was stranger than Shirou thought it would be. It was not any different—the streets still had the same bustle of cars and insane drivers, the stores still had overly polite attendants and clerks, even the billboard adds promoted the same things. Nothing was, objectively, any different about it unless he thought about the extreme details.

But still, the sensation was there. Shirou had returned home, but could not _go_ home.

He could not let Taiga, nor anyone else in Fuyuki, know that he was back in the country. The whole point he had to leave London was to make sure nobody was hurt in the promised struggle to "contain" him. Though Rin had been defiant in defending him, the damage was done. He was now a wanted person.

Not that he felt like a criminal, though. The Association had limited influence in the Far East and while Shirou assumed they would have certain ways to track him or discover his location, they were much more limited than if he had stayed in Europe. A watch was probably put on his house and the magical equivalent of a "bug" on or around people he might contact, but he was fairly certain that was the extent to which they could seek him out. What he would have to worry over is if they brought in a third party like his father had been, one who did not overlook the mundane to follow their prey.

His first order of business was to figure out what to do about his current situation. He had some money converted from what he had brought to London back to Japan, he had some of his things, and he had the instruction from Rin on his brand of magecraft. It was not exactly the start he wanted, but he had enough of a foundation to get going in pursuit of the future he knew waited for him.

Withdrawing money was easy. Though he rarely touched it, the account Raiga had set up for him was easy to access, but actually bore the Fujimura name. Though Shirou doubted that the Association had ways of tracking finances within Japan, he still appreciated the fact that if he was wrong, it was more likely they would be looking for accounts tied to the name "Emiya." He also made sure to do so from a post office in Homura, avoiding the areas of Japan he was familiar to and could easily be tracked in.

Figuring out what he was going to do for some kind of semi-permanent workshop or base was a little harder to think about. Though he had learned since going to London of his father's overall reputation and even some specific information—including locations he had apparently used as a base of operations at the height of his Mage Killer days—Shirou did not have any particular use for it himself. He was not going to be some kind of hired gun for the Association and truly needed to keep away from their grasp instead. Finding someplace secluded enough but still close to the places he could do some good in the world seemed almost antithetical to one another. He could keep on the move, but that would burn through what funds he did have in a hurry.

He would also have to figure out employment, then. Thankfully, the training he had managed was not absolutely for naught: he still could manage Reinforcement a lot more efficiently and smoothly now, so at the very least he would not tire out if all he could manage was a cash-only menial labor job.

Unfortunately, his training was still deficient everywhere else. Whatever place he could set up at would not have the benefit of a boundary field—he did not have the ability to set one up, and even if he somehow could, his own specific focus in magic would mean any response a field he created had to an intruder would probably be violent.

He did, however, know one thing: with the Church and the Association on bad terms, he could always deal with the other side. As Rin had once said, he _wanted to find trouble_, so hanging around members or locations of the strongest religious order in the world was probably a good way to do so.

* * *

He did not expect a situation to rear up so fast.

Shirou had only been back in the country for just over a week. Staying at cheap capsule hotels, he visited a simple little church every day, appearing every bit a young devotee that came to pray every day—though he simply practiced breathing exercises and meditated. For the most part, the clergy left him alone, though once or twice one of the priests had come to him, engaged in small talk, tried to see if he was interested in attending regular Sunday services. Otherwise, he was left alone and could simply take in the world around him and get his bearings. People came and went, the priests he had met would move about to their duties, the others that came for prayer or confession would commune with their god.

All in all, it was a normal day as far as he could tell, yet there was something in the air that spoke otherwise.

It was late in the day when he had ventured into the church, and fairly late as he made to leave—when what sat wrong with him became apparent. What was "wrong" did not cover his understanding, though, as it was more of an unordinary-infringing-upon-ordinary situation.

Church Executors. Demon destroyers and magi hunters.

Executors were a strange bunch. Besides the two he had met previously—one of which, when not wearing her habit, paraded around in clothing more suitable for a professional call girl—he had seen a few in passing while in London, ones that had communicated with Rin for various purposes. As a magus family with ties to the Church, Rin made sure to keep the connections necessary to continue their positive relationship. However, as the Association and Church were not exactly on the best of terms, they had always sent Executors, a show of force.

Even in London, where Christians were significantly more common than anywhere in Japan, Shirou could tell there was just something a little strange about the Executors. It might have had something to do with how they fought distortions in the world, like they had picked up on the unreal sense of the entities they slay.

Three of them entering the church, moving like they had important business to attend to. They made straight for the priest that had spoken to Shirou before, spoke in hushed tones. At first, he thought they were there for him—Rin's talk of Kirei Kotomine's betrayal and their reputation for killing magi that got in their way floated through his mind—but it was quickly clear they were going to ignore everyone in the pews.

Already moving for the exit, Shirou pretended to ignore them, but the moment he was clear of the doors, found an inconspicuous place to set up watch on the building's entryways. Like he thought, the three newcomers were not long and exited the church in turn, though once more it was not in a hurry, telling Shirou they were not after him. Still, he was fairly certain they were Executors, by the looks of them: though in the garb of church priests, they still carried an aura of strangeness about them. Additionally, one wore a pendant around their wrist, something that looked vaguely cross-shaped but was not, Shirou knew, a simple holy symbol for decorative purposes.

It seemed they were out for more than a leisurely stroll.

Following them turned out to be both easier and harder than Shirou thought. On the one hand, he had no magecraft abilities to enchant a person to trick them into not seeing him or erase their memory if they have. He could not use a Mystic Code to conceal him from sight, nor use a form of divination to simply track the Executors from a remote location. On the other hand, however, Executors would be trained in perceiving those things and their very usage might set off any number of alarms for them. So he had to, instead, rely on absolutely mundane means to follow them—and not look suspicious in doing so.

He at least managed to not attract the attention of the church members. He probably failed to look anything less than a complete stalker to the people in town.

They took a train to one of the more remote stations, then took to one street that led out toward the highways and rural areas beyond. Shirou was certain they were after something specific with how deliberate they made their decisions. The growing look of anticipation and anxiety on their faces as they got further and further into the remote areas of the town supported that. One fiddled with the "pendant" at hand, rotating it between his digits almost like he were fingering a rosary.

Shirou had the strangest urge to tell him to stop. Weapons were not toys.

The further from regular contact with people on the street they got, the further and further Shirou had to trail them by. He kept them within distant sight, though, as he was capable enough to Reinforce his eyes so they would match up with the knight in red he aspired to.

When they decided to enter an old, dilapidated building—apparently their destination—Shirou set up on the roof of another, still a fair distance away, but close enough that he could hear with magically-enhanced senses and make a shot if he felt it necessary.

"What do you want, Executors of the Holy Church?"

Apparently, whoever they were after was well-aware of the intruders. Though they had yet to ascend the first set of stairs and the voice had rang loud and clear from the top floor, two flights up. Though he could not see them with his eyes, he could visualize them glancing to one another, deciding what to do with silent looks and gestures, before the sound of their footsteps resumed. Shirou winced at what could happen through this all: in observing the building, he could tell that too much activity would cause the entire thing to collapse, as the structural integrity was ready to fail from cracked foundations, rotten supports, and rusty closures.

The Executors climbed up to the top story and through the broken windows, Shirou watched as they fanned out into a larger room. The speaker moved into sight as well: a young woman, clad in an odd-looking uniform and sporting a braid of hair that would make any manga heroine envious.

"Sion Eltnam Atlasia, by the powers granted from the Holy See and at the request of Atlas, you are to be taken into custody," the lead Executor said. He was a tall and imposing man, so Shirou figured he was chosen to speak primarily out of his intimidating manner. The two others moved to flank either side of the girl, the one that had been carrying the pendant pulling the device fully off his wrist and activating it: a Black Key, one of the conceptual weapons of the Church.

Shirou considered what the speaker had meant. Usually, Executors were expected to shoot first and not ask questions later: their mandate was to destroy demons, exorcizing them from existence without a care as to what their individual stories were. Theirs was the power and judgment of God, and they came down hard and swift upon those deemed taboo to the teachings of Christianity. But to give anything this kind of care—even if it was a forceful order rather than a polite suggestion—it implied some kind of political reasoning as opposed to the pure weaponization the Executors usually represented.

The young woman shook her head, and over the distance Shirou could even make out the set look on her face. In the faint light from the street, it made her profile seem somehow mystical, and he wondered what kind of things she had done or distortions that could have affected her made up that presence. "I cannot comply," she said, loud and clear. "Though it has broken the rules of Atlas, it is paramount that I stay here."

Tension rose—the one with the Black Key set himself for a fight, and the one opposite of him took a martial arts stance. The lead Executor said, "It is not a request. You will either return," he motioned to his fellows, "or be destroyed. It's your choice, but I would warn you not to underestimate our abilities."

For some reason, Shirou swore he had heard that before.

Again, the young woman shook her head, though now she was reaching for her side where a pistol of some kind hung. This was going to escalate to violence real fast, and Shirou was still unsure as to where he sat on the duty scale of sides to take.

The speaking Executor sighed, settled into a fighting stance as well. The other two took this as a readying sign, and the one with the blade raised his arm, ready for a strike.

"I have to stop him…"

Something in her words, whispered so quietly that he could hardly hear them, words not even addressing her would-be slayers, had him convinced. It settled the feeling in the pit of his stomach and he made his decision.

"_Trace, on_."

Tizona was the sword of El Cid, said both to startle enemies and burn as if alight like the swords wielded by the guardians of Eden. He poured enough prana into the sword to break it, sent it flying into the space between Atlasia and the Executors. The sword hit the dirty floor of the abandoned building and flared to life, bright as the sun, intense enough from the gathering dusk that even he, from far away, was momentarily stunned into haziness by his eyesight overloading.

Shirou thought that the actual story probably hovered somewhere in the middle of intimidating opponents and turning to fire, as the blade could emit such a bright light that it blinded a foe, forcing them to submit defeat.

The Executors all swore—Shirou thought that somehow funny—and the girl dove right out the open window to her back. This action also served to cement his choice: a person out for blood would have used an opportunity like that to try and recover quicker and slay the three attackers, but this one used the presented moment to flee. Shirou ducked atop the building he was on and watched, waiting for the Executors to either follow after their target or try to seek out who had just thrown a flaming sword into their midst—but the men all dropped suddenly out of sight and the curses began firing on all cylinders. Something within the building had tripped them up, and the one with the Black Key was suddenly too busy hacking away freeing his fellows to be bothered by pursuit.

Still, Shirou kept low to the rooftop and peered out toward the girl, who had crossed the street and was now looking around. He was thankful at how bright the sword had been, though, as she clearly was stunned enough herself to have lost some of her bearings and was probably having a hard time recalling from where exactly his weapon had flown in from. He watched her until she took down a side-street, considered going after her, but ultimately decided to stay put. He didn't know whether she would appreciate help, what the entire situation was, and too, he was not exactly in the greatest of positions to help. He knew the name Atlas, knew they were tied to the Magic Association, and thought that he might in fact complicate whatever situation she had to deal with.

It was nice to know, though, that in the short time he had spent in London mastering his tools, he was getting to the level of ability that would allow him to truly pursue his dream.

* * *

"Well…damn," Shirou grumbled.

"You should really have thought twice about utilizing a Noble Phantasm on your stunt with the Church."

It was only two days later, and it looked like his adventure might have been cut short.

"How did you find me, exactly?" he asked.

She was fairly tall and wore a suit and tie like a professional, though the gloves she wore offset any idea that she might be a simple businesswoman. He had met her once before, very briefly, and knew that her abilities were well and simply something of a natural enemy to his own. She was a Mage Killer like his father, an enforcer of the Association, and a former Master of the Holy Grail War. She was Bazett Fraga McRemitz.

"The Executors you attacked were men I know. They contacted me to ask about what they had seen. I was already aware of the order for Sealing the Association has on you. It is not difficult to piece together everything from that. There is only one other magi in the world that could possibly have utilized a Noble Phantasm, and only one would have used it so readily."

It was not just that he had been found, but apparently Bazett had seen right through his own habits as well. He had felt all day that he was being followed, so as the sun began to set he had made for the wooded area some kilometers beyond even where the fight between Executors and the Atlasia girl had occurred, away from civilization. Though he was safer where people roamed, he did not like the thought that a magi might simply attack him regardless to innocent bystanders and look at covering up any victims afterward. Usually, it would not happen like that, but Shirou knew there were some real sociopaths that could justify it within the ranks of the Association.

Out here, he had confronted his pursuit, and now knew they had been waiting for that exact condition to be met as well.

"I bear you no grudge, Shirou Emiya," Bazett said, "but you will come with me one way or another."

"No. I'm not going to be their plaything or their pawn." He really did not like the position this put him in—striking against someone who had nothing to do with his goals nor one who wanted to use him to their own ends.

Bazett sighed. "Shirou, though I don't know you that well, I know your type well enough. I don't want to fight if I don't have to, because I know that if this escalates, you are just skilled enough that I will not be able to hold back. And in doing so, I might kill you."

"I _am_ a magus, and I will stake my life on living my life the way I've chosen."

It was the mirror to his own position. The entire reason he had been marked for Sealing was not particularly due to his Reality Marble—though rare, the fact that he was otherwise a terrible magus with nothing in the way of usable research overrode the threat factor. Instead, he was now wanted because of _politics_. When it became clear he would not be convinced to use his power at the behest of the Association, to act as one of their enforcers—_that_ was the real reason. Unlike Kiritsugu Emiya, he had not already established himself as a viable independent power. He was still a boy, and one the Association thought could be brought under its heel.

The fact that he refused was the reason he was deemed a criminal.

Fidgeting with the grasp of her gloves, Bazett gave a slow exhale. "So be it." She took her stance, then like a boxer moving in to test the reach of an opponent, moved in with feather-light steps.

Kanshou and Bakuya formed in Shirou's hands. Facing this one with only Reinforced limbs of his own was like asking to be murdered.

"_Huaah!_"

Bazett made the first strike, and he tried catching her blow in between the flats of his twin scimitars.

The blades broke.

Somewhere, he was certain Archer was laughing at him.

The block was enough though to deflect her strike. Bazett spun on her heel and came around with a backhand strike that would concuss him into unconsciousness. Shirou raised another pair of blades to block, this time keeping the image in his head strong enough that they merely groaned in reverb at the enforcer's strike.

He managed another handful of blocks to keep her at bay, tried to maneuver her into position where he could box her in and cut off her much faster attacks. When her fifth blow shattered his blades once more—her blows were definitely stronger than Souichirou Kuzuki's Reinforced strikes—he withdrew from her range entirely and made to ready what he thought could disable her.

She did not move to pursue him at first, instead crouching down and making motions with her hands over her feet.

Shirou growled to himself. The Fraga were also rune users, he recalled.

It was an action-repeat of his fight with Kuzuki. Kanshou and Bakuya formed in hand and Shirou managed a half-step backward instead of moving in for his combination attack. Bazett was too fast for him, however, and her blow blew right through the crossed swords and into his chest. He flew at the impact, rebounded off of a tree, and rolled into the dirt, awkwardly managing to stay at least facing his opponent. Once more, Bazett moved in, her stance up, ready to respond to anything he threw back at her.

Souichirou Kuzuki. The memory gave him a desperate idea. "_Trace, on!_"

The blade that formed was not a Noble Phantasm, nor even a sword, per se. Longer than even Assassin's laundry-hanging pole, the weapon resembled something more like a flat bullwhip. Though sharp, it was significantly more flexible than a sword—

Shirou flicked his wrist and sent the weapon unraveling out like a charging eel. It was not fast enough, however, as Bazett sidestepped the thrust and moved in to beat him at a range his new weapon would not cover.

Shirou flicked his wrist again, sending the point veering off perpendicular from Bazett's charge.

The movement sent a sort of wave of oscillation down the length of the weapon, more exaggerated the further from the point it went. The sharp side of the weapon swept out opposite from the point in a curve and came in toward Bazett at a strange angle. The cut was shallow but precise, striking right at the elbow of her arm, locked back for a strike. The enforcer gave a yelp, and while she continued through with her attack, Shirou had just enough of her attention divided to get away. He leapt past to the side with her uninjured arm and made a pull with his weapon, trying to sweep another quick attack into her while he had the chance.

Bazett was too good for him, though, and she dove right up and over his slash like a high bar, landing on her hands and shoulders, flipping back up to her feet in the same motion.

Another flick of his wrist, though, and a flourish that was half-spin on his part, followed by a hard yank, and the weapon had curled itself around the enforcer like a lasso.

The metal moaned in strain as Bazett pulled herself free, but the time it took her was just enough. Shirou made it a full couple of meters away and had reformed the paired scimitars once more. He moved so that from his perspective, she was right between him and a tree, keeping her from making a calculated move backward to completely avoid his maneuver.

"_Spirit and technique, flawless and firm_—"

Blades flew through the air, crossing like an x right before striking Bazett. Without enough time for a strike, the enforcer raised her arms to simply block the blows, but the blades then went flying past her at the waist to either side without hitting her.

"_Our strength rips the mountains, our swords split the water, our names reach the Imperial Palace_—"

Two more blades flew out at distant angles. The four in total began to arc around strangely, polarized or magnetized by their pair or by the opposing pair.

"_The two of us cannot hold heavens together_—"

He readied a third pair of blades and charged in to strike. If she went to block any particular set, she would be perfectly in line for another pair, each boomeranging blade carefully aimed to strike at her limbs for a disabling blow—

"_Crane Wi—_"

Bazett backhanded paired Kanshou and Bakuya flying at her from the front just as she came up in a one-footed cartwheel kick like a professional gymnast that swept in an arc and struck the Kanshou flying at her from behind. The second Bakuya sped into a straight line at that, missing her by centimeters, and she brought her body back to face her attacker, hips swinging, and a double-fisted punch that blew right into his exposed chest as he opened up his stance to bring his own Kanshou and Bakuya down into her arms.

The only thing that he realized saved him was a jerk at her wrists as if she were somehow impeded by the air around her.

Shirou staggered back into a crouch, his vision swimming.

Bazett looked curiously at her own fists.

"One good turn deserves another, does it not?"

Both glanced to one side to find Sion Eltnam Atlasia there, watching from the shadows of the deeper forest, her out like she was holding something.

Despite the blood rushing to his ears and the pain he felt in his sternum, Shirou knew that the address was directed to him. Without another thought, he brought his blades back up to slash at Bazett from either side. The enforcer easily grabbed his wrists in turn, though he wanted her to do that—

The shortest distance between any two objects was a straight line. Though the distance was not great, his head was still closer to hers than any kick from either of them could cover. He shoved himself up toward Bazett with all of the energy he had left in his legs and headbutted her right above the bridge of her nose and hoped to anything and everything listening that she had no protective rune that guarded against an idiot's desperate move.

Bazett fell, and he fell in turn, though something cushioned them both as they did, cradling them like a hammock.

* * *

Sion pulled Shirou along, one of his arms braced over her shoulders.

"You are a strange person, Shirou Emiya." She helped him along even though his feet dragged as if made out of lead. "You insist upon giving unsolicited help, but do not even attempt to allow one to know who it is that helped so the favor can be returned."

Shirou wanted to sigh, but it hurt to do so. He thought that Bazett might have fractured every rib in his body and some bones he didn't actually have between the two strikes she had made on him. Plus he was also certain he had cracked his own skull when returning the favor—and he thought that, in fact, he might have actually hurt himself more than hurt her when he did so. Still, it had been enough to knock her—them both—unconscious.

Grass and weeds swished beneath them as Sion helped him back toward civilization. Upon waking to find that Sion had stuck around to make sure he would make it back fine, he wanted to get them both a cab and to a different part of town until they could be fairly certain that, for the night, no members of any order whatsoever would be able to find them.

"Isn't it alright to just help someone?" he asked, trying not to wince as his lungs rebelled against each word.

"Rhetorical question. You do not actually expect a response. You should not waste energy on such things." Though, something in her tone suggested a faint sense of amusement. "Though I would suppose the answer is yes."

He looked at her up close now, trying to get a read on her. She was a pretty young woman, somewhat exotic looking—definitely not Japanese, in any case—though her accent was perfect. The stoic expression she wore reminded him of Rin when Rin was at her most serious, and there was something else there that he could not quite put a finger to that also made him think to the mage. She eyed him from the corner of her gaze in response, and he knew she was expecting him to start asking questions. "How do you know my name?"

"I have been watching you all day, actually, and heard the enforcer say your name."

Shirou glanced back to where they had left Bazett, alive and well, though she would wake with a headache for sure. "And whatever you've been using…some kind of alchemy, right? A strange monofilament that I can't see?"

"I will explain it to you later, perhaps. I highly doubt that you will retain anything I say to you now."

He mostly agreed with her there. His head felt worse than the times Taiga had smacked him into shape with her shinai. Most of them, anyway. "I'll hold you to that. And I'd shake your hand, but, I can hardly lift it."

"Perhaps it will be enough that, as an alchemist, I believe in equivalent exchange. So you should know that, if I am to explain my 'monofilament' to you, you must satiate my curiosity as to how one produces Noble Phantasms out of Gradiation Air."

For some reason, the throbbing in Shirou's head increased. Perhaps that was the reason this Sion reminded him of Rin: the dangers of one who knew more about yourself than you knew about yourself, at least from a technical standpoint.

Mage killers, Executors, and alchemists.

He sighed, and it hurt.

* * *

To be continued.


	3. Processing

_**Processing**_

* * *

Sion watched him carefully, confused by every component of his behavior.

She had meant only to observe him, to see what it was he wanted when he had intervened with the Executors. Though she had not managed to grab him with Etherlite, the boundary field she used to surround her hideout had detected his presence. Like the Fraga Enforcer that had been sent after him, she had merely kept track of the Church followers and kept tabs on them. The information they reported in led her to investigation of her own and some calculations about who this phantom person was and what his motives might be. She had determined that, if indeed it was the whispered son of Emiya the mage killer, he would resort to mundane hiding rather than magical. Stalking the local equivalent to a hostel had turned up a young man matching the information the Association had on record.

Others might call it coincidence, happenstance, or luck. Sion knew it was all within the realm of probability and manipulating what she could to succeed.

She took him to her own new hideout. It was something of a compromise to the sensibilities of a magi and the strategy that this Shirou Emiya had used to avoiding detection. It was a local dormitory for high school students that had a vacancy. Sion had manipulated the memories of the monitor to make it seem as if she were a student—not difficult since Sion was hardly any older than the other tenants. She then made sure to spread her Etherlite-formed boundary field around the premises for detection purposes.

Though the dorm was all-girls, Sion had observed other girls occasionally bringing boyfriends in; if one was discreet it was generally overlooked. Shirou was walking on his own power by the time they were back to civilization and nimble enough to be fairly quiet as they entered the building. "I'm pretty used to acting normal while half-dying," he had said.

As a temporary establishment, the room was sparsely furnished. Sion kept a satchel of possessions and had not planned to gather any further resources for this location. So she was limited to accommodating a guest—Shirou could only remove his shoes and lay on the bed while she applied bandages to his injuries.

Injuries that bled. Injuries that—

"It's alright," Shirou said. He took the scissors nearby and cut the strand she had been circling around his torso. "This is enough." He apparently mistook her hesitation as concern that he was using up all of her medical supplies. "Thanks."

Sion eyed the strips of cloth as he secured the ends and reached for his clothes. Blood was already soaking through a couple of the injuries. She knew the others were still bleeding as well, though internally. "Are you certain? There must be something else that can be done to curb your profuse bleeding—"

"Eh, not really. And I've actually had worse, to be honest. Bazett was going easy on me, despite what she said."

"It appeared to me as if the Enforcer was not going 'easy' on you."

Shirou pulled his dirty shirt back on. "You probably haven't met Bazett before, but she's a lot nicer than she gives herself credit for. Anyway, I could tell. There was just enough hesitation there that I could at least track what she was doing. In a real, full battle, I don't think that would be the case." He grinned at some kind of joke only he seemed to understand. "She probably wouldn't have killed me, just beaten me to the point where I was not going to resist and haul me back."

"Back. To the Clock Tower in London." It was not a question.

"Yeah." He gave the alchemist an appraising look, like he was trying to imagine her circumstances. For a moment, she felt anxious—it reminded her of how people looked at her back at Atlas—but she felt more and more at ease the longer she stared back at him. Though he was certainly regarding her warily, it was not out of a sense of alienation or the possibility of threat. She could not describe what it was she concluded he was looking at her with, though. "And you? Those Executors that harassed you said something about that alchemist branch of the Association."

Sion considered how much to say. The information she had on Shirou Emiya was extremely limited, though what she had found out all pointed to the fact that he was regarded as some kind of limited celebrity: the winner of the Holy Grail War, apprentice to Rin Tohsaka, some kind of idiot savant in terms of magecraft. Nobody knew for certain how an amateur such as he could have won a battle against one mage, let alone six. It was also known that he practiced unorthodox methodology like his father, apparently to make up for his deficiency elsewhere. Beyond using the information to calculate his strategies, Sion had not considered why he would do so, simply assuming it was as all magi did—a practice of give-and-take, to benefit him somehow.

But in observing him, in seeing how he had apparently, though those mundane means, picked up on being followed, and had led his potential stalkers out into the wilderness had baffled her. A magi who wished to keep from the grasp of the Association was best to keep themselves in public as other magi would not risk the population knowing of their existence. Even if one was to attack, there were practices magi followed to minimize the collateral damage on the population and such practices were noticeable if one was looking. In other words, there were rules of engagement in these situations, ones that kept a magi safe so long as they were not instigating something that broke the rules first.

He had to know, then, that removing himself from civilization was dangerous, an invitation to be attacked. Sion wondered if he had a death wish, or if there was something else he was planning to do by drawing mage killers after him.

"It is not for a reason worth death, if that is what you are considering," Sion said. "The circumstances in which people are treating you suggests that my own situation might be comparable, perhaps."

Shirou grinned. "Very magus-like of you. Telling me without telling me."

Sion could not but frown at his comment. There was something almost insulting toward magi in it. "I am an alchemist. There is nothing to give without gaining as well. If you expect me to explain, I will do so only if you describe your circumstances first."

His grin fell away, though a look of amusement still seemed to keep to his features. It was not, however, amusement directed at her, though, she could tell. It seemed like his thoughts were now elsewhere—he even halted like a machine with its power removed. "I didn't think you'd care." He was addressing her, though his eyes seemed to view something else. "Didn't you say to those Executors that you had someone to stop?"

Slowly, the alchemist nodded. She was not sure how much of that he had been aware of and she had not actually meant to speak of such things. Even though she did let it slip, she had calculated that another magi would dismiss it as nonsense or some personal issue that was separate to the functions and responsibilities one had as a magus.

Looking at him carefully, she realized he seemed to be thinking hard on what she had said, reviewing that moment carefully in his head. Though she did not let it show, it startled her that someone would recall such an insignificant moment so thoroughly—though something about this Shirou Emiya made her believe that it was possible. He was just that strange, even for one in this world.

"I did. So you already know more of my motivations than I do of yours." Which was, technically, true—she did not _know_ anything of his, she just had her suspicions. "I propose you speak of them to me. You may tell me as much or as little as you wish. I will decide what to do afterward."

"You…" he gave her a funny look. "You're kinda odd."

"If that is meant as an insult—"

He waved that off, furiously. "No, no, just…no. It's…I dunno. But you don't have to speak so formally to me. I'm in your debt, so don't really worry about it."

She frowned. In saving him from the Enforcer, she had considered it an equalization of what he had done to keep the Church Executors away from her. Apparently, his own calculations were not matching up with hers. "If it is a concern—"

"Er, no, just…uh, no. I…you know what? Nevermind." He scratched the back of his head. "I'll just…well, what _do_ you know about me, anyway?"

"Your name, the name of your teacher, that you are associated with the Heaven's Feel ceremony, and earlier, that you were creating Gradiation Air replicas of phantasms that no longer exist within this world."

He laughed, though it was a dry laugh bereft of amusement. The kind of laugh she heard people use when they were merely covering up nervousness. "Uh…okay. So…I'm assuming, then, it's 'why are you pursued by an Enforcer of the Association?'"

Sion nodded, settling in on the desk chair next to the bed.

* * *

"This time, you've gone too far, Tohsaka!"

Shirou heard the voice and, if he had a free hand, might have planted it in his face. Instead, he could only sigh and shuffle his feet as the young woman he followed froze in place.

"Well, I just can't help it if the library is extra far from my apartment," Rin said. She twirled in place and Shirou almost tipped back onto his ass to keep out of her way, his vision impaired by the stack of books he was carrying for her.

Luviagelita Edelfelt stormed in after them, almost barreling Shirou over as she swooped in on Rin like a hawk. She strode right up into Rin's face such that, for a moment, Shirou was certain someone would make a hasty movement and something embarrassing would happen to them all. "That was the third apprentice you've cost me! How dare you speak of my training like it is some kind of…some kind of…like it would steal a boy's innocence!" The blond magi almost screeched the last words.

Actually, Shirou was having a difficult time understanding. His English, though better than when they had first come to London, was still a daily struggle. Add into it the pitch of an angry young woman—something he barely understood in _Japanese_—and he was doomed to only pick up on the emotion behind it. Whenever Luvia and Rin were in the same room, though, that emotion was generally easy to figure out: pissed off.

"It's not my fault if all your potentials go in, then come out looking like they're half-dead!" Rin said, huffing and crossing her arms. She gave an imperious tilt to her head and said, "I merely stated an observation using your metaphors—the one that goes, 'like they've had something sucked out of them' or whatever it was. Don't blame me if people get the wrong impression!"

"Then maybe next time I'll just have to announce in front of everyone what kind of _sucking_ you seem to be doing to your apprentice!" Luvia growled, her eyes darting toward Shirou.

"D-don't you even think about it!"

Somehow, though they were yelling at each other, their gazes had fallen on him, and Shirou suddenly recalled an urgent meeting he had _elsewhere_. "I'm gonna go on ahead," he said, louder than he needed, though in Japanese.

As he sped off as fast as he could without tripping and dropping all of the musty old books Rin had him carting, he heard Luvia make a new proclamation: "You don't want your sordid life public, that's just fine. But I will find out how it is you can keep such a whipped dog around!"

Rin's retort echoed around the corner he dashed past. "Like whipping animalsdo you, Edelfelt?"

Shirou also made a mental note: even libraries were not safe from the girls' combative shouting matches.

* * *

Shirou did not hear of any further incidents between Rin and Luvia for weeks, though he spent any time he had with them in completely separate situations. Luvia would often corner him in the library or in the food court, though only when Rin was not with him. She would press him on matters related to his history with the heir of Tohsaka, and though he attempted to avoid sensitive information, it was a difficult matter overall.

"Just ignore that witch," Rin had told him one evening as they had practiced some of his Reinforcement techniques. He was getting better at working with materials that were not-bladed, though it was a relative thing—more like a 60% failure rate instead of the 90% rate he'd had before meeting her.

Shirou had rolled his eyes. "Easy for you to say. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the two of you are a lot alike, you know. She's always a step ahead of me when it comes to getting news on you." He, of course, did not ever deem it necessary to say that he and Luvia actually got along fine, really, and that only when Rin was actually present did the Edelfelt girl turn into a monstrous hag that would demean anything within a five mile radius. Thus the thought that they were alike—he wondered if it wasn't just hatred of one's own kind at work.

"I'm nothing like that—" Rin's words then came in muffled gibberish as she put the medieval helm he had Reinforced over her head. They had come to the point where they would work with war-related materials, straying step-by-step farther from swords and spears until they reached a threshold of items he just could not manipulate reliably. So far he was decent at armor, though it had to be in a medieval style rather than the modern protection worn by the military and the like. "—eating underworld harpy." Rin removed the helm. "It's fine."

"She has been kinda nosy lately, though," Shirou admitted. "I'm just not good with handling her, though."

"Then avoid places she's been approaching you. If you're one step behind, just change the rules on her." Rin huffed, looking around at the rest of the items they had been working on—breastplates, greaves, even an old battle-horn. "You have been getting better at thinking like that, at least."

"I guess," he said. When they sparred to keep their physical prowess up, they had found that Rin could no longer cleanly defeat him in hand-to-hand maneuvers. The muscle-memory he had gleaned from a certain red-clad knight had stuck around enough that he no longer had to just rely on instinct—he could actually consider strategies amidst battle. "But I, uh, think she'd pick up on that, and while I know you don't like her, I'd rather not have her angry at me _too_, just beca—"

"For the love of…" Rin apparently had enough of his complaints and shoved the helmet onto his head. His knee-jerk reaction was to try and pull it back off, though Rin held it fast to his skull. She then pulled the visor up and leaned in, her lips taking a demanding kiss from his. "Just remember who your boss is, you got that?" she said, then slammed the visor back down.

All he could do is nod, the plume on the helmet waving like a white flag.

* * *

Because they lived in an apartment that was not a part of the Clock Tower grounds, visitors were rare. Shirou jumped to get the door when a flurry of knocking startled him out of a breathing exercise he had been doing.

Luvia Edelfelt stood outside, red-faced and nervous-eyed.

"What's the matter?" Shirou asked, moving aside to let his guest in. Though he knew he would get an earful from Rin later on, the polite side of him absolutely refused to talk with her through the doorway.

Luvia, though, did not seem to care whether he moved aside or not. She shot through the door and into the living room space, peering this way and that, then spinning on her heel to look to him. "Is this…are you…where is…am I going…"

Shirou stared at her dumbly.

She scrunched her face up, as if she could suck all of her stuttered words back out of the air and into her lungs, recompose them, and then spout them back out clearer. "Just who the hell are you?"

Shirou stared at her dumbly, though he managed a "Wha?" noise.

"I…dammit, Emiya, why is it happening like this? You…you…I thought what they said about the Grail War was misinformation, that Tohsaka won, but that she was using you as a shield for whatever reason!" Luvia looked ready to explode, her fists balled up at her sides. "Why couldn't you have just told me?"

He blinked. "Er…I did." It had come up in their conversations, and he had simply confirmed what had already been passed around—the information that he was the "winner" of the ceremony. Though the people that thought it true believed _that_ was the reason Rin had taken him as an apprentice, he simply did not dissuade them of the notion, nor did Rin. They ultimately didn't like talking about it and didn't want people to figure out anything behind the spell or its taint.

"Not that, you idiot! I mean, why didn't you explain to me why?"

Now he was staring at her with annoyance. "Am I missing something, here?"

Luvia flung her hands into the air, then groped around for her hair as if she would pull it out. "I mean, why didn't you tell me about your magecraft? Why didn't you just tell me that it wasn't Projection, but a Reality Marble?"

Shirou's eyebrows fell, his fists clenched, and even his toes curled. He had not told her that, and both he and Rin had been careful not to speak of that to _anyone_. Magecraft secrets were already something of a taboo subject since the more people knew, the less powerful things were—but something like a Reality Marble had a few additional problems on top of that. "What are you talking about?" he asked, managing to keep his voice even.

"What you told me wasn't adding up! So I researched, asked around…"

This brought his eyes from narrow to wide, a sense of dread crawling up his stomach and up his throat. "_Asked around_?"

"That's what I mean, you idiot! If you had just told me, I wouldn't have…had to…"

He eyed her carefully, from toe to head, processing the look in her eyes fully now. There was worry there, real concern, and he knew this was bad. "And?"

She looked down. Her shoulders fell and her entire posture shrank somewhat, as if wilting. "I…think some of the higher-ups might've figured it out, too, since I was asking about you…and kind of…uh…" Her voice shrank to that of a girl, caught and guilty of a crime. "I might've…blurted it out when I came to the conclusion…"

"Some of the higher-ups, such as…?"

"Lord El-Melloi, and—"

The first name was not one he worried over. Waver Velvet supported Rin, supported him, and had seemed generally unconcerned even though he probably knew the most out of anyone at the Clock Tower about the Grail War. But an "and" meant others, others he did not want to know _anything_ about him. The political situation within the Association was often tense, and Rin herself was already under close observation due to the war. This sort of information getting out, no matter who learned of it, was bad. But even beyond that—

Even if it didn't mean political maneuvers, there were other dangers associated with having something so unique and rare. Something even technically banned from being pursued as a source of extensive research within the Association. And Shirou, low man on this system's totem poll…

He made for the bedroom, for where he kept all of his personal belongings.

"I didn't mean, I mean…I didn't…I wasn't…" Luvia regressed back to stuttering, her feet shuffling in behind him.

Shirou scrambled for what he knew he would need: wallet, passport, a phone he had convinced Rin to keep around. He tossed them onto the bed, then went for the lockbox Rin kept beneath the bed. He had always warned her of such an obvious hiding place, though she had waved it off with the excuse that it was spelled, so anyone who tried to steal from it would get what they deserved.

"You…" Luvia looked absolutely lost, genuinely upset. "They aren't going to…"

"You wouldn't have come here to warn me if you thought that," Shirou said. "Where's Tohsaka?"

"I thought she'd be here—"

Shirou shook his head. If Rin had not been pulled from her research to deal with this situation, he had the feeling that the business-end of the Association would be paying him a visit before he could get his "master" in to handle the situation. He quickly ran through a mental checklist of the things he had and what was necessary for him to take as he pulled some extra clothes out of his dresser. It was not a process he had thought to do in a while, but it had always stuck at the back of his mind that someday, he would probably need to work things like this out. He would not be Rin's apprentice forever.

He had to almost crawl into the closet to reach the duffel bag he needed. It had been a while since they had last traveled and although Shirou tried to keep the space neat, Rin's long days of work dictated that she would return to their apartment and just toss things anywhere. Regardless to being well-organized, boxes full of papers and books just piled up atop everything else they did not use on a regular basis.

"Emiya, what are you…"

Shirou glanced up at the blond magus, the look on her face betraying that her question was merely rhetorical. He gave a helpless shrug. "I know you two don't get along, but, it doesn't look like I'm going to be able to give Tohsaka a proper farewell. Think you could?"

"But—"

There was another knock on the door to the apartment. Shirou hastily stuffed the last of the things he had out into the bag and looked to the window. "Just tell her…I'll try. I'll try to find a little enjoyment out there. But no promises."

* * *

Sion watched Shirou sleep, many things on her mind.

The top layer of thought was practical, regarding his abilities. Though he had explained the basics of what he did, why the Association was after him, there was just enough left unsaid that she had not quite grasped his capacities. He was a blacksmithing magician that quite possibly rivaled any Faker in history—he might even just be the greatest Gradiation Air master ever, considering what it was he reproduced. But how that was possible still eluded her, still baffled her. Reality Marbles were rare abilities. Humans did not regularly have access to one, for a very specific reason: they were distortions, singular and single-minded in their acquisition, something that few humans ever had the time to acquire in a single lifetime. The few that had were merely the product of a pinnacle of research passed on through Magic Crests, so much of the work was not done by the individual. For a young man—a young man not even through a quarter of his life, even—to possess one was an anomaly of anomalies.

It led to the other thoughts, the deeper reasons behind her consideration. He was not a normal person, even by the standards of magi, Sion could easily make that much out. Like a good magus, he was clearly self-sacrificing and determined, something that would push him to greater heights. But it was not out of his need for magecraft or a desire to reach Truth as it was for many others—

No, that was wrong. He strove for Truth, but…

It was not the Truth of a magician.

Sion had been alone for years now. Nearly six had passed since her encounter with the one she sought; six since the death of the knight that she thought of constantly. It had never occurred to her to consider why it was she was alone—why she had never gravitated toward the others out there, ones that were in similar positions as her, or ones that were true mavericks or heretical to standard practices that would at least not be "enemies" any longer. Surely there were others affected by the Apostles that, due to irregularities, still retained forms of humanity, or those that hunted for the root cause of any number of problems related to the mystical.

How it was that probability had brought _this_ one to her.

There were, of course, variables that raised the chances of their encounter. She was waiting for the next manifestation of Wallachia in this country, knew it would be here after its earlier failure within nearby Misaki. Japan was a small country with regards to the influence of the Association, so a Western-styled magician to call it home was rare. The fact that he had been on the run also heightened their chances, as a person targeted by external threat often returned to home territory to regroup. By her calculations, however, the greatest variable was his goal, his desire. Like Kiritsugu Emiya before him, if her conclusion was correct, Shirou sought the salvation of a great number of people. Though an irregular consideration for a human to have, it was definitely a factor in drawing one toward the location of a crisis. Everything in existence sought its own, so this was completely within acceptable range of consideration.

She decided that it was fine to trust him, for the moment at least. As it was late when she had brought him in, she had recommended he simply rest in her hideout until morning. He had acquiesced and given into slumber—his injured body clearly demanding rest—and it gave her time to consider her options. It would be beneficial to have someone else support her in her endeavor, both in the future and for situations like earlier, and it seemed as if it would be beneficial for the both of them, not just herself. Though she had not explained her situation, she thought that if she did, he would be willing to accompany her. He was being drawn to danger, after all.

Beneath everything regarding magic and motives, though, was the sensation of loneliness she detected as she watched his slumber. The way his arms reached out from his body, the odd positioning of his legs, the way he did not sleep completely centered within his makeshift futon was somehow bothersome to her. His explanation had alluded to it, though he had not outright said anything and Sion did not feel the necessity to press—

Though, it led to the curiosity inherent to one of her age, one that still, through it all, could consider herself a woman—

She wondered if his teacher in magecraft, Rin Tohsaka, had been more than a teacher and fellow survivor of the Holy Grail War.

Sion had not left much behind in her quest to rid the world of Wallachia and find a way to reverse her own curse. She had no friends, no family—only peers, fellow researchers, other alchemists. They were comrades, but not friends. It had not been a choice—it was the only choice. She was going to find a way to defeat this, regardless to the rules of Atlas she had to break in the process, and that meant leaving, possibly for the rest of her natural life.

But this one had other options, even if they might have been restricted by the ruling of the Association leaders. If he had loved, he could have stayed for that love. If he had what was intrinsically built into the genetic data of living organisms within his grasp, she wondered what would drive him to pursue something that was beyond natural human thought and desire.

Sion wondered, briefly, whether she would ever consider actually asking him the answer to her questions.

* * *

To be continued.


	4. Resonance of Possession Experience

AN: Two more chapters remain after this. The BL forums will eventually house some extras, though.

* * *

_**Resonance of Possession Experience**_

* * *

Sion ran as fast as she could. The effects of the Blood Lair had somehow ceased almost immediately after appearing and she needed to know what had happened. She should have known what happened, should have been able to see it, predict it, but—

The city of Mifune was in no different shape than it had been before. It was still run down in parts, bustling in others, pretty near the center where the main business district and park was located. The people she passed were looking around as if disoriented, blinking rapidly or staring up into the sky as if in a trance. Even vehicles on the street had stopped as drivers idled in confusion. They were not bloodless bodies scattered throughout the city as would be expected from the manifestation of Wallachia.

The alchemist followed her Etherlite strand toward the center of the community. There was no data stream from the other end. There was no thought process fed to her through it. Though she understood what that meant as a logical conclusion, the part of her that had become tainted by the connection was desperate to believe in the contrary.

She ran past the cluster of buildings they were separated at. She cut through alleyways and back streets, across a parking lot and through an underground mall. People in her wake slowly came to as she crossed their vision and shook them from their stupor. She ignored them and ran.

Her monofilament cable ended at the street that roughly bisected the city in two, pointing her toward the park kitty-corner to the tallest building in the area.

The tallest building where the Blood Lair had gathered its data. The park at which she and Shirou Emiya had agreed to meet.

* * *

"The circumstances of my…_parent_ Apostle makes my transformation unique, so my human qualities have not degraded as of current. However, suppressing the urges decreases my physical abilities greatly, while over time the percentage chance of a full transformation increase by a fraction of a percent every month. In thirteen years, four months, seventeen days, nine hours, thirty-three minutes, and fifty seconds the transformation will be inevitable."

Shirou appeared as if he was attempting to put some sort of visualization to her description and was making himself dizzy in the process. "I'm lost."

It could have been the map, however. They had decided to move on together—Sion because it was a logical concept to have another set of eyes, Shirou because he was intrigued by the notion that Sion's quest was supposedly tied to the end of the world—and so they were deciding on a destination. Sion was insistent that in two months her target would manifest and the likelihood that it would be in Mifune was some high percentage to the thousandth decimal point Shirou could not remember.

"Why there?"

"Cities with malignant data processed in the forms of rumors, superstitions, urban legends—they accumulate the greatest possibility of manifestation. Mifune has stories of mass suicides and inexplicably gruesome murders stemming from over ten years ago. The data has since gathered that if it were measured in volume, it would be greater than many other locations."

Shirou's eyes could not help but be drawn to another city shown on the map. "I see."

"Fuyuki does have such data as well," Sion admitted, "though the control over information exerted by the Association and Church has curbed its accumulation. Since all things are generally explained under one broad category like gas exposure, the variance of rumors and lore are limited. It is probable that Wallachia will not appear there for another two decades."

"Two decades, huh?" He sighed, though he still kept a smile up. "I wonder if I have that long."

The alchemist folded the map back up and stuffed it into the bag of camping gear they had acquired. They would not be venturing into the wilderness for a while—first it would be a bus ride to a rural town about a third of the way between their current location and Mifune—but Sion was always for reviewing her information and Shirou seemed to like his preparations as well. "I do not understand. Are you sick?"

Shirou opened his mouth, seemed to think better, closed it, and chuckled to himself. "Jury is still out on that one. It's a long story."

"You have many long stories."

"Hmm, they're really not that long compared to yours, I guess. How about I go with 'it's complicated.' No, wait, still not as much as yours." He shrugged. "Well, the bus isn't here for another twenty minutes. I could probably get it all said by then."

"I will time you."

"Uh…maybe a bit more than twenty minutes…"

* * *

The onsen was just as empty as the inn they were staying at, so privacy was not an issue. Even though the baths were divided by gender, there was nobody around to question it when Sion made her way into the men's side. It also made for a strange feeling of liberation, as the social taboo of being in a place she should not was present in her mind, yet she candidly strode up toward the spring with only a flimsy towel shielding her.

Despite the fact that he had seen her fully unclothed before, Shirou's face immediately flushed a bright red upon seeing her. The obvious nature in which she was visiting also certainly contributed. He sat up with his ankles remaining in the water at her gesture, and she descended into the hot water in his place until she was tasting him once more.

"You're going to kill me," Shirou moaned, though his tone was not complaining. His entire body went stiff with pleasure as she moved over him like she could lick up every stray droplet of water hanging from his skin.

"Only if you ask me to," Sion said, flicking the tip of her tongue against him. She was thankful for the little banter, the fact that this was not just some strange chore for either of them. As far as intimacy went, it was a strange arrangement, but even beyond the urges her body demanded, she reveled in the closeness it gave.

As an alchemist it was the perfect solution. Equivalent exchange. She gained the DNA consumption that her body craved—albeit in small doses—while he would be shown the affection that was no longer a part of his life. Sion knew he did not perceive it as such and that the affection issue was not something he consciously received, though it was a theory she had after glimpsing his memories.

It was intrusive, though Sion always used what she could. She bobbed her head almost at the same rate she could feel his blood pumping, then twisted her tongue back and forth around the crown until she heard his breath hitch. It was not that she was so in tune with him as to tell what he liked—but she already knew what he found pleasurable. He had clear memories of times with a dark haired witch doing exactly this, and Sion knew exactly how much he could take.

It was not just that she could mimic what Rin Tohsaka did to make him feel good. It was that she comprehended, at a fundamental level, what Rin Tohsaka wished to do for him. It was that she understood, ultimately, what an existence like Shirou Emiya meant to her. She and Tohsaka were alike in that, Sion believed.

* * *

The park was empty—it was after dark—but even with her Etherlite connection severed, Sion could tell that Shirou was here. She could detect the signatures of a boundary field within the park, though nothing physically happened when she stepped into the theoretical realm. Instead, the alchemist was overcome with a strange emotion, something disharmonious to nature that led to unease and disorientation. A normal person would potentially describe it like a feeling of superstitious dread, like stepping into a cemetery rumored to be haunted. Sion wanted to describe it like returning to that day, years ago, as Wallachia loomed over her while the bodies of the Church warriors lay strewn around her.

Short of utilizing the Black Barrel replica, she did not have the resources necessary to break through a boundary field short of a long and complicated process. Instead, she sought to carefully map out the dimensions until it collapsed on its own. She set about to surround the area with Etherlite and form her own boundary trap.

If Wallachia was beyond this field, she would be ready.

* * *

She rocked her hips at a maddening pace, desperate to feel him deeper within.

It was almost like having a separate personality. The urge was always at odds with her thought process, a disharmony of purpose that was in conflict with her constant calculations. When she had expressed her frustration with the sensation, Shirou had said that it was "like you're a supercomputer, and some idiot is using your memory to look up pornography."

Sion thought he said it with a sense of self-awareness, that he was the "idiot" that was only using her. A part of her wanted to tell him that was not so, but their situation was complicated.

Out in the wilderness away from the draw of people, all of them evoking a small degree of bloodlust from the alchemist, it was easier to withdraw back to the person she was comfortable with. But every other night, still, she would come into the tent he had brought, nearly shaking in desire.

At midway through the week, the loneliness crept in for the both of them, and instead of the almost professionally-distant intimacy, they had instead embraced like real lovers. Since then, it was not merely some strange act of survival, though Sion did not have the perspective to be able to give it a specific term. It was what it was.

She arched her back as his hands came up to her breasts, tugging at the tips until she could no longer stand it, her body instinctively moving toward the pleasurable sensation. She leaned her head back into his shoulder as she did, unable to control her own motions as climax overcame her. Her legs curled around his awkwardly and she gasped out a noise that could only be compared to the squeal of an animal.

Her body tensed, tightened, and her desperate gasps for air were stifled by the warmth from the springs. The touch of Shirou's hands sliding along her breasts grounded her, though, and she wiggled her body just enough to feel him once more swirl around inside her. She somehow managed to turn around to see his flushed expression and her hand came up to his cheek to guide his lips to hers.

* * *

Sion rested her forehead on his shoulder, panting, the sensation overwhelming. She knew what the possession of a Reality Marble meant, what the data would be comprised of, and her calculations had included every possible outcome to prepare her for the processing challenge it would present her with.

Her calculations had not included what had brought about this data stream, what mental state she would have to perceive to gather the information that created his world.

His body was made of swords. He viewed himself as merely a weapon, a tool, something to be used for battle—his entire existence nothing more than a sad echo of humans at their worst. He had iron in his blood, certainly, but his heart was glass: fragile, transparent, empty.

His body was made of swords. He was born wreathed in fire.

Even her own memories of that night, the death of the knights around her, the selfless and ultimately pointless sacrifice of one she had befriended, the moment she cried out as the world went dark and he consumed her—it was not something she forgot, but it was not something that completely remade her. She _refused_ to let it remake her. She refused to even think about it regularly, because the horrific feeling that welled up in her stomach was enough to make her wretch every time.

But when she had breached the topic of his memories, he had simply shrugged.

"Go ahead."

She had blinked at his easy statement. "Perhaps I misunderstood—"

He then shrugged again. "No, go ahead. Plug me in, or whatever. If it helps."

There was something there that had baffled every process her mind was capable of. When he had explained some of the events of the Holy Grail War and his experience with a future existence he may someday embody, the concept of learning about it all was something her scientific mind could not turn away from. Especially with regards to Counter Guardians—beings that were in many ways parallel as existences to the purpose of Atlas.

When he had described his power, the very power that had chased him out of London, her curiosity had turned to a morbid fascination. Reality Marbles were abilities alien to the average human mind and even most alchemists and magi only understood them in theory. They were, however, a much more common occurrence to the Apostle Ancestors, the twenty-seven that included her target.

She wanted the data. She wanted to see it, understand it. She wanted it because it brought her both closer to her enemy without destroying her like her own transformation would. Ultimately, it might even provide her with information regarding her own transformation, since the body reflected the soul—so if she could replicate the processes behind a Reality Marble, she may have the in-road to a hypothetical cure for her own plight.

Sion Eltnam Atlasia, heir director of Atlas, master alchemist, prodigy—she could not have predicted his simple reply.

"It is your own magic," she sought to explain, like he did not already know such things. "Though I feel I must understand this, the secrets of another magi—"

"Eh. A secret people in London already know. And I know you're not exactly going to go off and sell the data or something, so, yeah. If it can help you, and the look on your face says it can…well, then go ahead."

She did not understand that the data was wrapped up in such memories. Of death and destruction, of pain and suffering—something he seemed to understand and empathize with so intrinsically that he could shrug off any sympathy shown to him. She understood now—and yet, paradoxically, became less aware of—his ability to ignore such sympathy. It was not something anyone else, any "other" could begin to conceptualize. He did not accept it because it was not something they could understandably give to him. If they understood, they would not give him any.

Yet she understood now, and did not—and both wanted to sympathize, yet did not.

The barrier of his soul. Something she realized, even before this, had become a part of her.

* * *

The barrier faded and reality resumed.

Sion had steeled herself for what she expected to exist beyond the boundary field, but could not help but drop at the sight, her legs giving out underneath her.

The man was on his knees, still and silent, though somehow yet upright. However, like a nightmare she had glimpsed within his memories, he was—

Blades skewered him from all sides. He did not stay upright because he had died standing. One arm was extended and held up by a spear that had impaled it and then dug into the ground. His chin rested on the flat of a broadsword through his neck. A leg had been pierced twice over in his kneeling position. The white shirt he had been wearing was no longer white at all.

He was upright because his body was locked into place, the weapons jutting from him acting like the most bloody kick-stop imaginable.

—always alone—

Wallachia was gone. The orb that had formed the Blood Lair had ceased to be within the Reality Marble Shirou had created. But Sion knew that was nothing, that the murderous Apostle was still out there, still in existence. Nothing short of the Crimson Moon's manifestation or a conceptual weapon of world-shattering capacity would actually bring about his total destruction. Still, without the presence of those he needed to feed upon, the origin of his phenomenon ceased and he would have disappeared until he could reconstitute back into the pattern Sion had predicted…

—intoxicated with victory—

Sion shuffled to his side so she could carefully remove the weapons from the man's body. She drew each out far too easily, a sign of how razor-sharp each blade was and how fragile his flesh had been.

Wallachia was not gone, though, not truly and utterly destroyed. He would continue to terrorize others, and—

—his life had no meaning—

She would continue on, once more alone.

* * *

There were words she wanted to say, but did not have the capacity to vocalize.

In the Japanese language, it should have been simple. Easy. One did not state the words "I love you" like many other languages. The word for "love" was infrequent even in the most romantic of stories or examples. Instead, there was the word Shirou teased that she mispronounced, _suki_. Lovers might be pressed to say it; something that was more akin to "fondness" or "pleasure." It was an approximate fit that worked well enough for her to accept as what she felt: she found his presence pleasurable, comforting. It was not "love" like she believed he felt toward Rin Tohsaka.

Yet that was the very thing that kept her from speaking the words. The conception within his culture of what she had to say was that of lovers, but she did not want to tread over anything he already had. The data Sion had accumulated from his memories held Tohsaka in such high regard that she felt terrible for being in the very position curled up at his side that he wanted Tohsaka to occupy.

"There's a resort area on the way to Mifune that we can stop by on the way, get cleaned up and everything," Shirou said. He looked at her with a faint tint of color in his face. "I mean, uh, not that I'm complaining. Just, you know, I probably smell. In fact, I'm not even sure how you can put up with it, stuck in a tent with me."

Sion wanted to say _because I like you_. The words died in her mouth, though, as she processed how this exact topic had come up before—a time in which Rin Tohsaka had complained about him always smelling after work, so he had taken her to an onsen to placate her annoyance.

"I am capable of enduring much worse than a little sweat," she said instead.

* * *

Days, and then weeks went by, and the paradox that she had seen could not be solved.

The compression of data, the manifestation of the Blood Lair and TATARI's power meant that his death would have been that which he feared the most. It should have been nightmares, should have been the most hellish existence he could have conjured up.

His death was simply of his own image, the very thing that resided within him—without fear or regret, horror or even fascination.

She understood what he had done, logically. The Blood Lair siphoned the thoughts of all beings in a certain radius, powered the images taken from those thoughts, then those images tore apart the persons they originated from. Those that were destroyed then fed Wallachia until he was bloated. If Shirou had managed to manifest his Reality Marble around the Blood Lair, he could make it a world bereft of others and himself the only target. Without the compression of data, Wallachia would be forced to withdraw as if unsuccessful, and his manifestation would then return to its predetermined patterns.

Still, he was a Dead Apostle Ancestor, and certainly had time enough to kill the one responsible for thwarting his meal. Additionally, if Shirou were killed fast enough, the Reality Marble would fade and he could resume his actions afterward.

That had not happened. Shirou had somehow maintained his world even as death took him.

So he had died at the hands of his own nightmare. Yet it was not a nightmare as she understood it. It was not a nightmare as _he_ understood it—the data she had taken from him explained as much. It was a fate he had seen, had accepted without so much as a shrug.

One like him, executed for crimes he had not committed. Now him in turn, dead for people who had not even known there was danger in the first place. Dead because he had been driven away from the place he had wanted to be for things he had no control over.

Sion wanted to scream at the inconsistency.

Sion wanted to scream at the unfairness.

Most of all, she wanted to scream at how little any of it mattered in the end.

* * *

To be continued.


	5. All Projections Finished

AN: You'd think, with fewer credits this quarter, I'd have more time, right? Logic fails me.

There's a formatting issue in here that doesn't translate to FFN formatting. The version posted on Beast's Lair works a bit better.

* * *

_**All Projections Finished**_

* * *

"This was a bad direction," Sion said.

Shirou looked confused, glancing around the foliage that surrounded them, then peering up to the sky through the canopy. "The sun says we're still on the right track."

The alchemist shook her head, her braid waving such that Shirou could not help but be a bit hypnotized. It was a strange thing to fixate on, but he always wondered how she kept it from getting in the way on the occasion that she fought or how annoying it was to dry and brush out after a bath. Somehow, in the time they had spent together, he had never even seen her braid it—either it was completely down, like just out of the bath, or it was perfectly made, even though she took very little preparation before they took off every day.

It rated up there with the mystery as to why girls' bathrooms always smelled better than one used by boys, even one as well-kept as Shirou's own back home.

"I do not mean our path in the literal sense," Sion said. Though he was prepared for some kind of scathing remark, Shirou had to regularly remind himself that she seemed incapable of sarcasm and would earnestly complain if she felt he was being an idiot. "But now I am concerned about this idea. I believed it would be good to keep me away from the large holiday crowds you spoke of, but now I am worried I will simply kill you instead."

Shirou burst out into laughter.

Sion gave him a foul look, then glanced around as if to see whether his outburst would bring them trouble, even though they were deep into the woods and had not seen another human for hours. The only thing that seemed to take note of their presence were birds that startled and flew away at the sudden noise; their inelegant stomping through the brush had already chased away any land-bound creatures. "What is funny?"

"The way you phrased that." The redhead kept snickering to himself as he waved his arms about, gesturing to their surroundings. "Lets follow the beautiful part-vampire out into the wilderness without telling anybody. I'm now that horror victim that you're always yelling at on the television."

"I am attempting to bring up a serious concern," Sion said. Though it would not exactly qualify for the average person, Shirou could now tell that she was doing her own equivalent to pouting.

Which did not help his amusement. He was certain at this point that he was a masochist because it always got him into trouble, but teasing girls significantly smarter than he seemed to just be his thing. Even if it landed him "on the couch" so to speak. "She'll then reveal that she is not actually beautiful, but some horrendous creature with a jaw that opens like mandibles and then my brains will be sucked right out of my head."

"Your imagination is strange and vivid." The alchemist halted before passing through the next set of brambles; she had been using her invisible wire to sunder such obstructions. "Although it is yet apt in a strange fashion. I am not going to suddenly split my jaw in a way that is not natural, though I am concerned that without others around, I may shift all of my focus onto you and be unable to do anything but consume you."

"I swear, I didn't watch the tape! Or go into that house! Well, no, wait, I was in Tohsaka's house before, and that was supposed to be cursed…"

Sion huffed out a sigh, glaring at the young man, though the way she kept her brow furrowed suggested she did not know if he was joking at her expense or not. "I am attempting to breach an important subject and concern, Shirou. I do not want to expose you to certain death if I can help it."

The expression she was met with was no longer one of amusement, though it was certainly a smile. It lost every bit of good nature and somehow, despite the way it continued to curl his lips, the feeling that Sion experienced when witnessing it was not positive. For a moment, he looked like an entirely different person—one that, instead of being good-natured but a little slower at processing thoughts, appeared instead more like a person who thought significantly faster than even Sion did. It was not that he somehow looked less like Shirou Emiya as he did so, but it was an expression she had seen another have once before—that lonely knight-priestess, standing before the doom of eternal nightmares.

Though Sion did not spook easily, the expression was enough to make gooseflesh rise along her arms all the way up past her shoulders and creeping up her neck. His words, however, despite the natural truth in them, caused that feeling to shoot right back through her a second time.

"All death is certain," Shirou said. "Nothing you could do will change that."

* * *

The funeral was full of irregularities.

Shirou was a twice-over orphan, with biological parents that had died nearly two decades before, and an adoptive parent that had died half a decade later. He was officially a ward of the Fujimura family, though he had been old enough at the time and left with dual inheritances that he only needed a technical caretaker until he was the age of majority. He had no blood relatives to show for the ceremony, nor even a specific party in attendance that was a clear host to the received wishes and prayers—he was, ultimately, utterly devoid of a familial aspect.

Shirou was not a practicing Buddhist, though his parents had been buried under Buddhist rites—as was fairly regular for the average Japanese. However, he was also known to have ties to the Catholic Church as well. As he had not left behind any instructions in his will, what kind of ceremony would be held would have been a point of contention. The funeral was held in the Emiya house as was instead more regular of a Buddhist tradition, the mourners present looking to a picture and an urn. His body had not been suitable for viewing prior to cremation.

Shirou was, furthermore, a stranger to his own lands. There were only a dozen or so people to pass through the doors beyond the Fujimura family and their helpers. Though only a few years had passed since his graduation from school, only a handful of people his age were in attendance. The standard for an average Japanese man of college age would have theoretically invited many classrooms worth of students from his junior high and high schools and any friends would have been obliged to come. Shirou was not one that had forged many bonds with his peers, or at the very least bonds that had lasted beyond the bare minimum of social requirements.

Still, those that were in attendance appeared deeply distraught. Though, as Sion noted, they also did not seem highly surprised like the friends and family of one who died young might.

Sion wanted to approach, wanted to alleviate the suffering she saw—particularly in the dark-haired girl who had a differing look from the rest. Despite the quiet sobs or sullen faces of others present, Sion felt the most pain emanating from Rin Tohsaka, the one who adamantly refused to show her sorrow. The fact that the young woman held it all inside was somehow more upsetting to watch. It instead gave her the appearance of a soldier or war veteran, shell-shocked and desensitized, not even comprehending that grief was present.

Sion watched from the outside, Etherlite connecting her to one within—a young man with a gaze that in fact settled upon Tohsaka more frequently than the rest. She had seen Shirou's memories of Shinji Matou and thought that he would be ideal as her eyes and ears, though she was surprised by the amount of grief she also felt from him. His thoughts were ones of regret and dim anger, unlike the self-pity she thought she would encounter. It only truly made the alchemist even more frustrated, to understand that Shirou's own worldview and what actually existed were once more distorted and false.

Outside, on the roof of a faraway building, she divined the quiet house and its occupants as they gave their final farewell. She watched as the young woman that had once been Shirou's lover left before the others, watched as a similar looking woman sought solace from Shinji Matou by taking his hand, which Shinji neither acknowledged nor turned away. From there, Sion cut the connection and considered once more whether she wished to approach.

There were many things she felt she should pass along, though she had no clear concept as to how to accomplish it. She had many things she also wished to ask of Rin Tohsaka, but not only did it seem like the magus would not be ready to speak of such things, but Sion's own current status complicated any interaction she could pose. Approaching either of the Matou siblings did not seem right either, as they were not in a position to answer all of her questions and Sion thought it might simply compound their emotions. None of the other people in attendance were aware of Shirou's other world, so they were not suitable.

"For such a friendly person, you were certainly otherwise antisocial, Shirou," Sion complained to the empty air. "Unlike Shiki, you did not have a valid excuse, either."

* * *

"I still do not understand."

Shirou shrugged, though he was nodding in agreement. Though not as far into the forest as they had planned, it was still far enough from civilization that they could talk philosophy without anyone hearing it. The way he considered that to resemble the basic what-is-sound rhetoric amused him greatly. "I don't get it either, really. I mean, when I sit down to think about it, everything is contradictory. I don't have a single thing that makes perfect sense." He grinned. "Perfect for a magus, right? It's mysterious and all."

"That is not exactly what 'mystery' is referring to in terminology, however." Sion had crouched with her back to a tree, her body language somewhere between shying from him and an animal backing up before pouncing.

Though Shirou was certain she would not appreciate the description as such.

"You want to be a hero, an ally of justice. You know that it is possible because you have seen the end result. Yet you do not like the end result's own personality. However, if you go down that route, you will inevitably reach that same conclusion. While you know all of this, you still pursue it. All for something that was not even your own conception." She sighed, staring at the twigs at her feet like their random pattern would likewise give her insight into his inexplicable logic. "So you know that you can safely venture out here, because one way or another, your dream will occur, even though it might not occur to you, yet you want it to do so, but do not."

"Stop saying it aloud, you're making _my_ head hurt."

"It seems someone made a mistake when naming your ability 'Reality Marble.' When your supposed absolute reality is not even real within your own mind."

He laughed. "It _is_ real to me. Just, uh, not _really_ mine? I guess…you know, magecraft is tied to your mind. So it may not be real if 'real' is something that comes from me, but to me it might as well be?" He shifted in place, dead leaves cracking beneath his feet. "You saw why I think this way, that my old man wanted these things and I'm just trying to fulfill them in his place. Means all this isn't real for me either, just the continuation of somebody else's work. But I live it, right? So, it's real for me." He watched Sion's face, the way her gaze never changed, and sighed. "I'm not making any sense, huh?"

"No."

Shirou sucked on the inside of his cheek, both to keep himself from repeating what he had already said and to try and focus on a new way to explain. He usually did not get so far in speaking his thoughts on magecraft aloud—Rin had always gotten fed up with his processes that she would move onward to another subject or start the insults game. He missed the insults game—at least there, he knew he was making sense. Also, for some reason, it often led to some of the more pleasant times he'd spent with the she-devil.

Something he apparently shared in common with that guy.

Thoughts of the man he may one day resemble led to a new approach. He remembered the dreams he had of that guy, the vision of his possible future—and how it was both not his, yet most definitely was something he kept as his own. "You saw it, so it was real for you, right?"

Sion frowned at that. "I do not classify such information as 'real' or 'fake.' It is data, and I store it as such within my memory."

"Your memory." He clenched his fist, barely refraining from giving himself a congratulatory cheer. "So, you know, they talk about this sort of thing in psychology and philosophy a bit, right? What differentiates your memory from my memory, if you have both?"

"I do not understand your meaning."

"Hmm." He considered for a moment. "You said you were raised in Egypt. Completely different place from Japan, eh?"

"Certainly."

"But you have my memory, my 'data' from growing up in Japan. How is that any different from your 'data' from when you were growing up in Egypt?"

"Ah. You mean to say that if I classify it as data, there is no difference."

He grinned again. "Really, I think it's the same for the average person too, they just don't have your fancy terms and all. It's just something that happened, something they remember. So it doesn't matter if it was theirs or not, right? So long as they remember it, it is usable."

She looked dubious. "Possession equals mastery."

"Not _mastery_. Just 'cause I'm in possession of my old man's goal doesn't mean I'm any more proficient at it than somebody else. But I do get to learn from his example a bit, get to carry what he had. And, well, even if he wasn't perfect and all, in my mind he was everything I ever wanted. There's nothing more implacable than that to me, so it's an absolute in my mind. What I remember was that strength, so I get that strength."

"Your replication of weaponry is the same."

"I guess." He looked a little embarrassed now, as the focus had shifted to his own abilities. "I 'remember' Saber's sword, or Lancer's spear, or whatever, and I remember how strong they were, consider what got them to be so powerful. So, yeah, I guess it's the same." His gaze turned skyward, though not to the faint blue beyond the canopy of green but to some memory far away. "Memory is a powerful thing, isn't it? It's really the _only_ thing I have."

Sion had no direct response to that, merely considering his words. They struck a chord to her, though she had no way of expressing it as he did. Memory was the means by which she kept data, not the driving force to existence like he made it to be. Though as one that studied magecraft, his way of thinking was perhaps closer to the conceptual keys of what made up humanity than hers was.

* * *

The Emiya residence was silent hours after the funeral, its grounds abandoned for the houses of the living. Sion knew there were plans for what would happen to it afterward, but for now it was empty, and for now Sion could view it as much as she wished.

Not that there was much to view. Even in what she had seen through Shirou's memories, it remained much the same—rather austere and vacant. Though some of that could be attributed to the Zen style Kiritsugu and then Shirou had kept it in, the majority of its vacancy came from the reflection of the owners themselves. Shirou was not a "things" person, the kind that cluttered up his living space with signs of, well, living. Besides the assortment of tools and unused mechanical parts in the shed, the well-worn kitchen utensils, and some of the dojo equipment, nothing particularly said anyone had once lived there. It would not take much time at all for everything to be cleared out for a new owner to move in despite how large the house was.

It reinforced the conversation they once had of memory, however—

Despite the data she had collected from him not originating from her, the detail it contained on the back porch was somehow greater than anything else. She knew every line in the wood grain of the floor, the number of shingles she could count from the roof eaves, how wide it was down to millimeters when the doors were open. She could recall the faint scent of steam from a bath that had been taken, the feeling of a summer's breeze coming from the eastern side, the distant sounds of cicadas making an occasional hum.

_When I was young, I wanted to be an ally of justice._

Though it was not her own ears that had heard this declaration, the memory was clear as could be in her own mind's eye. It was a little confusing at times to consider it so—within Shirou's own memory, this information was well-maintained yet not so intricate. Like any regular human mind, he would have eventually even forgotten how it went exactly as he made new memories over time. The signs were already there that Shirou was beginning to see atrophy to this data at the time of his death. It would have been different if his memory were eidetic, but the only part of him that seemed to stand true for regarded weaponry.

So, in the end, he not only had a borrowed goal, but his reason for carrying out that goal would have been lost. In the end, it did not matter whether he remembered or not. He could not have seen the beginning of the road after journeying so far down it toward the end destination.

_Let me fulfill it for you._

Sion's own family entrusted to her the goals of their line. Even as twisted as Wallachia had made it, the reasoning behind his transformation had been within the objectives their family, and Atlas as a whole, strove for. It was not a foreign idea—

Sion wondered if the laugh she let out was even her own. A foreign idea, an entrusted dream, a borrowed goal…all these things seemed to make circles within her own mind.

She remembered once when he had laughed and smiled in the same way. All death is certain, he had said. Nothing he or she did could change that.

Even still, she now knew…even still. He remembered a promise he made, and the dream he promised to carry out.

Now she remembered it in his place.

* * *

The mists swirled and the air was heavy. The humidity was oppressive to one like Sion, who had not known the feeling of such thick moisture in the air without a sudden torrential downpour. The Top End area of Australia was perhaps the most foreign location she had visited thus far and the alien nature surrounding her weighed heavier in her mind.

It was too readily becoming a familiar sight to Sion, the darkness that compressed into an entity above all others within the town, a black moon to the white that should have shone over the landscape. In the distance, she could hear the moans and cries of others now suffering the torment of nightmares that would consume them. Some were pitiful, others horrified—some were wails from children and others the full body shrieks of adults.

She ascended the tallest building to stand before the darkness that loomed over it all.

The orb seemed to bob in acknowledgement of her presence, and though it did not have a face, turned in place as was proper in address. "You have calculated my appearance pattern to a near absolute," the darkness said.

Sion stood before it, shivering despite the warmth of the location—shivering at the bleakness from the existence above her. She briefly pulled at her jacket so it tightened around her shoulders, the sensation grounding her to the moment. "When you understand all of the variables, the result is not unexpected."

The form of the man that appeared brought a sense of amusement with it. He swept into view with the swirl of his cape following the lines of shadows that conjured him, standing tall and menacing like no performer of _The Phantom of the Opera_ could hope to achieve. The beatific smile he wore was not one that fit his face, however. "Then I congratulate you, heir of my line. Your transformation is not wasted if you understand this inevitability."

"I will not go along with your plan, however."

Sighing, the form paced around her, eyeing her as a doctor to a prizefighter, seeking out the imperfections that would lead to defeat. "I believe, then, you have failed to truly understand."

"I have come to stop you. My predictions have led me to you every time since then—you will not be able to escape."

Disappointed eyes closed and the Zepia form lost its air of amusement. "Prediction does not allow you to do the impossible, things that have no probability of occurring. To do the impossible, you must transcend mere calculations. It seems your form is still as imperfect as I thought initially." His eyes opened once more, this time in slits. "If you stand in my way now, I will destroy you."

"No."

A shrill scream sounded from below—the kind that could only be followed by the person falling unconscious afterward from a lack of air. A howl in the distance like a wolf punctuated it. Still, Sion's silent statement was stronger, more palpable.

"No. I will stop you. I have made the preparations."

The smile returned to Wallachia's face, then shot past amusement and went straight for the extreme. Teeth gleamed despite the darkness and his expression changed from one a human could wear to something more like the enjoyment of a predatory animal: terrible and ferocious. "_Preparations_." The laughter he made was likewise more animal than man, and matched the howls of the beasts that terrorized those below.

The night of terrors darkened further as all remaining sunlight in the sky fell away. With it came a complete din of mewling and crying as the manifesting demons grew in power and number.

"The same preparations you made the last time?" The man turned from her with a flourish of his cape, stepped into the darkness of the orb and disappeared from sight. "I tore that one asunder. His presence meant nothing, just as any others before him."

"No."

"Oh, yes. He certainly stopped me that once. Such alien magics from a boy that seemed too thick in the head to create such a complex spell. Still, he died, just as all others have—died in terror, died suffering from the fear within him. It literally ripped out of his body, those weapons, killed him from the inside-out despite appearing as if he were being penetrated from without. Terrible to behold."

"No. You misunderstand."

* * *

Why was he amused, when she said she would kill him? Why did he give a smile when he said words that could only have been poison on his lips?

She knew that he wished to continue on, to fulfill his dream. She knew, from what she had seen of his life, that he would deny that death would come for him in any fashion, because he would fight against it and win. He would surpass it until his dream was fulfilled.

Then, why?

_You saw it, so it was real for you, right?_

* * *

"The soul resides in the mind." As the darkness stared her down, waiting to hear her words, she stared back. "His life was taken from you, but his existence is here. Right here. And here he will be, with me, until my life has ended."

The darkness said, "Then your life ends here."

"No." Her fists clenched, the bangles around her wrists shaking. "You can't have him. _I won't let you have him_."

* * *

Her mind overflowed with the words said to her, the thoughts she had, the memories that were not even hers.

_Prediction does not allow you to do the impossible, things that have no probability of occurring._

_What is real and what is fake. Calculations and predictions are based upon what is possible. What is impossible is nonexistent. What should not be. Imagine it. Visualize it. Make it real._

_I'll reach it._

_I'll definitely reach it._

_If everything I have is broken, I'll use what I don't have._

_Even if what he sought is nowhere…_

—_if "nowhere" is impossible—_

_There's nothing more implacable than that to me, so it's an absolute in my mind. What I remember was that strength, so I get that strength._

_He made real what was impossible. He made normal what was never to be._

* * *

Sion pulled once on the threads of her Etherlite.

The broken circle she had made with it filled in as the strand went taut. The primary source of magical energy formed and flowed.

The threads connected to people in the town provided more. Magecraft was, after all, a form of equivalent exchange. To survive, they would be providing their own salvation.

And they would provide another component as well…

Her eyes clenched shut. The words in her head were withdrawn, the sword to her memory's scabbard. Her voice rang out loud and clear as her thoughts ran parallel, synchronizing to one unique purpose.

"_He is the bone of _my_ sword."_

His body was made of swords.

Number one, two, three: activated.

"_Steel was his body and fire was his blood."_

His blood was of iron and his heart was glass.

Determining creation ideology.

"_He created over a thousand blades."_

He survived through countless battles,

Synchronization of hypothesis to template.

"_Unaware of loss,"_

Not ever once retreating,

Extracting world egg theory.

"_Nor aware of gain."_

Nor ever once victorious.

Systemic errors detected, omitting.

"_Withstood pain to create many weapons,"_

The bearer lies here alone,

Realigning unknown factors.

"_Waiting for another's arrival."_

Forging iron on a hill of swords.

Projection procedure replicated, understood.

"_He had no regrets; this was the only path."_

His life truly had meaning.

Sharing resonance of possession experience.

"_His entire life—"_

His body was made of—

All processes complete. Deploying—

Flames burned away the scenery, the building on which they stood, the streets below, the walkways and houses and workplaces and everything else. The fire spread to the boundaries of the city before halting, contained by the form of a perfect circle of invisible wire.

All things within reach of her mind.

All things bound to her memory.

"—_Unlimited Blade Works."_

Swords stood throughout the landscape, throughout a burned hilltop, black silhouettes to a red sky. The smell of industrialized metals permeated the air and no breeze could sweep it away.

"Merely overlaying a Reality Marble over my own will not avail you. You have no ability to wield what is not even yours. Like him, I will destroy you if I must, and then I will continue, and your final death will have been for nothing. Absolutely nothing!"

Her tears blurred her vision, but for that—

It would have been impossible to envision it so perfectly otherwise.

"Your words are correct. I cannot wield this, and merely deploying this over your existence is like placing another layer over what already is. Unlike him, I cannot contend with your world, cannot replace it or reality with this. It is not mine, after all." Beyond her words, the still-terrified screams and cries of the dying could be heard, now intensified by the sudden change of landscape and the alien knowledge that it brought. "All of the people and plant life and the shades of nightmares made real—I cannot remove them."

_All death is certain. Nothing you could do will change that._

He had not said anything after that on the subject, but she understood that those words need not be said.

"TATARI manifests the fears within people's hearts. The fear of terror, of death, of destruction." She clenched at her own arms, once more as if to ward off a sudden chill. "All death is certain, but humanity still strives to survive. It will refute its own extinction to the last breath."

He was and was not the young man she had known. Like through a filter, like through eyes tormented by the grief of his memory, it was a perfect replication, yet not. He was taller than she, though he always had been. He stood as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders, though it was not—and yet it was. He was a knight, only not, yet he carried with him the virtues and the distortions of such a warrior.

"Do you know what happens, what occurs when those fears manifest? What would _normally_ happen, if your existence were not a mystery?"

He wore red and black, though he had never worn such colors in his life. His hair was pale like the moon instead of earthy like the world around him. Though he was and was not the young man she had known, he was certainly the same person.

"Prediction does not allow you to do the impossible, things that have no probability of occurring. There is a paradox to that, however." She still did not understand that paradox, still struggled to wrap her consciousness around the very idea. For all of the processes in her mind, it was something that still eluded her, still continued to bend to the will of a greater mystery. "That which is impossible still occurred within this world. The one you destroyed last is the one that already existed beyond the truth that you can see. He _is_ the last you will destroy, yet the one you never could destroy."

Even if the justice he fought for was nowhere—

What was there was still real. The ideal of a hero who wanted to save anyone he could. Even from a death that was inevitable.

The hologram took form—

All death is certain. But even the unconscious mind of humanity seeks another answer.

One knight stood between them, answer in hand.

_I wasn't wrong_, her memory recalled.


	6. Processes Complete

_**Processes Complete**_

* * *

It was not that she was in love.

The feeling was there, certainly. Loneliness had chipped away at her since leaving the halls of Atlas and seeking the solution to her plight. His presence had been a boon, something to hold close so she did not have to consider such emotions. The ease at which she had found herself in his presence was surprising, too, as despite their disparate backgrounds he had somehow shared more with her than any peer she had ever known. She thought that, maybe, had they been given the chance, it could have become love for her. Though a part of her considered the fact that he still had strong feelings for another within him to be integral to how she had known him, so she doubted anything but their current relationship would have come of it.

Beyond that, however, was the perspective he had given her. Atlas was, as the saying went, a no-brainer. She was born into a family line that had both fame and infamy within the boundaries of the organization. Her own abilities were far above the average. In many ways, being named Atlasia was merely a matter of course for one such as her. That was different from seeing a path with ones own eyes and choosing to walk it.

His path was such a thing, forged by the man he had come to call his father. He may have had help on those first few steps—his lover, plus a golden-haired knight he had once met certainly featured prominently in his memory with regards to that—but it was something he had chosen for himself. That path was something hard and infinitely painful, but one that anybody from Atlas could understand and accept intellectually as a noble, if impossible, goal and ideal.

She, too, could understand intellectually that the survival of the greatest number of people possible was worthy of pursuit. In many ways, his ideal was like a subset of a goal Atlas held to stop the future apocalypse from occurring. It was concerned only with the here and now, but it had many similarities. Yet for how important it was, for how it would affect the lives of so many, Sion had never considered it much more than simple data. She had never truly lived enough or understood the significance of the "other" to realize the drive, the _need_ to pursue that end where those destined to die would be saved instead.

The one from the Holy Church, the knight that had given her life to protect Sion, had that same drive. Sion, however, did not understand it in the same way. Riesbyfe Stridberg was, despite the constant consideration Sion gave to her memory, not a being Sion felt she had an adequate comprehension of. Their motivations, their histories, so much differed. The time spent together had not been long enough to reconcile with these differences, despite the fact that their personalities had been synchronized.

Shirou was different. Perhaps, she thought, it had to do with the concept he pursued so strongly, something so single-minded it warped the very reality within him.

Something that humanity as a whole unconsciously strove for.

Something Sion thought she might be on her way toward.

* * *

Sion did not know whether it was the final death-blow. The swords that rained from the sky continued to crowd Wallachia until his original moon-like form could no longer be seen. Then an explosion would occur, or a sudden flash of light, and the darkness would be revealed—only to be overwhelmed once more by the color of steel.

She was certain that what ended it was not the weapons themselves causing damage. Wallachia did not have a "body" capable of mortal destruction—at least, not in the conditions provided by the current world. It did, however, possess the mind of the original bearer of TATARI, one who had a mind like Sion. One who had to process all things that occurred.

How does one process unlimited blades? How does one conceptualize an endless number of mysteries?

Wallachia could handle the data amount. That was for certain. However, could Wallachia handle the contradictions the data provided?

Sion could. If she held with her the one that this came from, it was a simple task.

_When I was young, I wanted to be an ally of justice._

In the darkness of the Blood Lair's Night, a hero with no name did his work.

* * *

Dawn.

Sion squinted at the light cresting over the horizon. She was tired, her mind overworked, and soon the demonic part of her body would be a lot more uncomfortable.

The town below was overly quiet. Those waking from slumber would feel like they had suffered a bad dream. Those that had been awake would feel unease but be unable to discern why. As humans do, however, they would eventually go on with their lives and forget, perhaps too easily, the moment of suffering that they could not quite remember.

Sion laughed. A memory that was not hers bubbled to the top of her consciousness, of a high school classroom. Of a girl pacing outside the halls, then screaming bloody murder, and the entire class witnessing it—then erasing it from their minds. It _never_ happened.

"You think it's funny _now_," a voice said from beside her.

The hologram remained. It stared unflinching at the warming sky, something he might have done even if he were not a mere replication of ether and data.

"It is a strange thing to think about. His memories, your memories—they only seem to house strangeness."

The figure in red snorted.

Her gaze went to where the orb had hovered, to the calculations she had already concluded even before this battle was fought. "He is not destroyed for good, is he?" Sion asked. It was a rhetorical question, more rhetorical than others—she was, after all, merely asking another facet of her own consciousness.

"No. That thing is a mystery, closer to a force of nature than a being that knows life and death. This weakened it, though it will continue."

Her head dropped. The thought that came to her now only heightened her guilt. "And I will fight him again. Once more, you are left to nothing but a cycle of destruction."

Gray eyes closed, though a look less scathing than she expected creased his face. He did not say anything, though he did not need to. With that, the image of the knight dissipated, leaving behind only a coil of invisible wire.

The wire itself seemed to be his reply.

Not _just_ a cycle of destruction.

* * *

It was not that she was in love.

The feeling was there, certainly. Memories of what was not to be and things that once were moved back and forth between synapses like a letter in a bottle floated to and fro in the sea. If the metaphor was apt, Sion was unsure as to how she was supposed to take it, what her own thoughts were if she had to pluck the bottle out of the water and examine its contents. Was she to take what was written inside at face value? Ignore them? Consider them but decide not to pursue a course of action?

Perhaps the new influence within her mind was exerting some form of control—or lack thereof—as she found herself acting before having considered the possibilities thoroughly. It was not in her nature to act before adequate preparation so all things were set to her favor. To some degree, the memory-within-a-memory she held also agreed to that. The remembrances of the knight in red were in line with her own, a being that carefully planned out as much as possible ahead of time to maximize efficiency. That was yet another thing they had shared in common. Though, Shirou himself had yet to come to that point. It was not yet something he consciously took in; intuition was his primary modus operandi and it had yet to run completely parallel to the quick, deliberate thinking of his future self.

Nearly seven months had passed since Shirou's death. Three since she had driven off TATARI. Still, not enough time for her to process every new emotion to any degree she found acceptable.

Compared to Egypt, London on a good day was cold. As Winter had started in earnest, Sion considered the city was more oppressive than anything she had ever sensed. From the droves of people going about their daily business weighing on her mind to the inhospitable weather making her uncomfortable, she truly felt like crawling into some isolated—and warm—den and conserving her energy. Somewhere closer to the equator. Somewhere far, far away from civilization.

Despite her discomfort, she waited. She stood in the shadows between buildings, out of sight unless someone was looking carefully, still mulling over the course of action she was about to take. She was desperately unprepared, under-informed, and the possibility that there was a better time to do this ranged much closer to 100% than 50%. It could wait until the weather was pleasant and both parties could be comfortable. It could wait until a time of year in which many had free time, like a holiday. It could wait until emotions were less raw and fresh on the mind.

She heard a set of footsteps like any other, yet unlike any other. Within the scope of her borrowed memories, they were engrained as special, unique, despite the everyday nature to them. There was a certain cadence, an energy, matched with the sound of shoes she liked to wear. It was nostalgic, a fond remembrance of times when they echoed through the halls outside a classroom, their sound just like any other but their rhythm somehow telling him the owner was thinking only of him.

"Rin Tohsaka," Sion said, causing the footfalls to halt at the mouth of the alleyway. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

* * *

"It's in here, somewhere," Rin grumbled.

The sight was everything Sion did not recognize, did not have the basis for comparison. Rin crouched just inside her closet doorway, shifting through a mixed mess of shoes and papers. Though Shirou's memories contained similar images—usually of Rin searching for a specific paper amidst the pile—the way the young woman hunched over was unusual. There was a closed-off, distancing sense she projected, as if she were cold or afraid. Not the mundane way Rin regularly cast herself about, something that had amused Shirou to no end with its un-ladylike demeanor.

"You have too many shoes," he would always say. And he would always get a shoe tossed at him in return.

"Here." The box was smaller than Sion imagined, though it should not have been a surprise. Shirou had taken most of what was important with him when he fled London—and he otherwise lived rather ascetically.

Rin set the container out, then got to work shoving all the detritus back into the storage space. When Sion had introduced herself, the magus had avoided eye contact. Putting off what hung unsaid.

Sion removed the lid from the box and peered inside. Some clothing odds and ends Shirou had not taken with him—mostly mismatched socks. A stopwatch. A mobile phone. Something Shirou's memories had no recollection of: a pair of rugby tickets. "I did not know he was a fan of sports."

"He wasn't. He caught things here and there but didn't pay much attention." Rin rummaged through another part of the closet. "It was going to be a surprise. He spent two weeks helping me carry a bunch of books and project equipment around. I was going to treat him." The way she continued on surprised Sion. The alchemist had assumed she would have to prod around, drag the information out of a reluctant knowledge keeper. This admission appeared as though Rin wanted to get some things out into the open.

"I think he would have appreciated it."

Rin let out a long, deep sigh. "Okay, I get that you spent some time with him. I've looked up your name before and it doesn't surprise me that he'd end up crossing paths with you. But, honestly, what is it you want? I don't really have the resources to help you with your…_problem_."

There it was, the primary concern. The reason she came, the reason she had to speak with Rin, the reason that she still did not fully grasp. "I do not have any motive other than I felt I had to speak with you. I must…say things. Things he did not have the time or adequate cognition to formulate into language."

And there it was, the expression that she recalled and yet did not—the expression of pure surprise on Rin's face that Shirou's memories had set aside. If Shirou's own data could have been partitioned, he would have kept a special area dedicated to "the expressions of Rin Tohsaka that are to be cherished." This was one, special of the special, that he kept in mind because of how infrequently he managed to surprise the girl. Of course, it also came with the caveat that it was often to be followed by a look that so clearly communicated one thing and one thing only: "Shirou Emiya is a no-talent idiot."

"Wha…what do you mean?" Rin stuttered out.

How was she supposed to explain? She was not Shirou, did not have that connection to exploit, yet she was—she kept everything about him within her. It was less comparable to the inheritance of ideals Shirou took from Kiritsugu and more like what Shirou experienced when siphoning abilities from Heroic Spirit EMIYA. She was a separate existence but held something so inherently common to them that reality itself distorted.

Doubly confounding because it was a fairly intimate, intrusive issue to breach. As Sion knew it, Rin Tohsaka would not be pleased to know someone else had in-depth understanding of the relationship she and Shirou held.

"I love you," Sion said.

An old-fashioned wind-up clock on the bedroom desk clicked hands as the hour changed. It punctuated the statement and reflected the cogs turning behind Rin's eyes. "Ghwha?"

Sion considered how she had not considered what she was actually saying before the words passed her lips. "Um. Let me explain."

* * *

It was not that she was in love.

Analytically, Sion had to structure her perception that way.

To be in love was a mutual acceptance.

To love another did not require reciprocity.

It was important to her to define it as such. So that, by necessity, she could fulfill something else.

Rin had said as much to Shirou, not long ago. "I will find a way for you to love yourself." Words she had repeated to him, repeated from a promise she had given at war's end.

* * *

"His inheritance was separate from him, and he decided what was important in it. His father's motivations differed from his own." Though embarrassed enough that her cheeks were most assuredly turning some shade of red or pink, she kept her gaze steady. "He loved you. More than you actually think he did. I think that is important. So…I will love you as he did. And I will remember that for the rest of my life, just as he remembered many things for his father."

The part of her mind that was always taking in data, the part that was most definitely Sion and not anyone else, watched in fascination as the thoughts of the dark-haired woman played plainly across her features: a flush of the cheeks, then a tinge of glassy eyes, a faint curling of the lips that formed something far short of an outright smile, ending on a furrowing of the brow and narrowing of eyes. The memory of how she had appeared at the funeral with nothing but a blank face was happily discarded in light of the new information.

The thought that Shirou would have, that this was a moment to file away as "never going to happen again" also skittered through her mind.

"That's…really messed up," Rin said.

"Indeed it is. However, I think that you out of anybody in this world would understand that if it were not so," Sion could not help the faint smile that creased her own lips, "it would most assuredly make me a fake."

* * *

She loved, perhaps found love in return.

It was not the kind of camaraderie she expected to encounter. Her journey was a lonely one and there were few—if any—that shared her plight. Connecting to Rin Tohsaka even took her further from the halls of Atlas, as confiding in a magus of the Clock Tower was not a glowing beacon guiding her back to her origins. Though keeping a world of one man within her mind kept her close to his humanity, it was also conceptually something that brought her just as in-line with the Apostles and their inhumanity. Tomorrow, still, she could be one of them. Today, she still had no remedy.

Still…

_It's fine, just keep running._

The voice within her said it best, even if it also carried with it an edge that would never truly return.

_I'm not going to listen to you sulk._

"I must remind Rin when next I see her, it is not all good. Your mouth can certainly be foul when it wishes to be," Sion said aloud.

She stared out over the darkening landscape before her, the glow of cars and workspaces and houses slowly taking light in the approaching dusk. She thought of the view he had once seen from here, of the girl he loved taking to the air and trusting the knight in red to carry her. Somewhere in that, there was a strange sense of parallelism to the world she now faced.

A black moon began to form above the skies of the winter city.

A memory of something greater than it came to mind, of a young man who stood before the greatest of heroes and, somehow, managed to win.

"You…child…" the darkness swirling above her let out what could only be called a feral growl. "The probability that the same thing will work twice on me is too low for significance."

"Continue to make it less probable, then," Sion said. The silvery threads of ether slid from her fingertips and began to take shape. "I will make what is impossible real."

* * *

End


End file.
